The Lucky Ones
by Ruby Sword
Summary: Everyone knows it's not easy growing up poor in District 12, but does the mayor's daughter really have it any easier?  All Madge Undersee wants is a real friend, and to prove she's more than just a girl in a pretty dress.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This started as a one-shot, just for fun, to elaborate on the little exchange in the book between Madge and Gale, and to speculate on their relationship. But, I got hooked on the Gadge, so I kept it going.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from the book.

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><p>"Pretty dress," says Gale.<p>

My heart skips a beat and for one glorious moment, I allow myself to believe that Gale Hawthorne is giving me a sincere compliment. But I come to my senses and narrow my eyes at him skeptically. As always, he's impossible to read , but I know enough about him to know he's not being genuine. Not on Reaping Day. And certainly not in front of Katniss.

I manage to plaster on a smile anyway. "Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

When I see Gale's expression, I immediately regret my words. I didn't mean them to sound biting like they had, and, oh no, now he's looking at me with those hunter's eyes and I can barely suppress shivering at the chill he sends running down my spine. Even standing outside my back door on the ground, two steps down from me, he towers over me. His jet black hair looking slightly disheveled, his eyes, cold steel, boring into me from way up there: he looks deadly.

"You won't be going to the Capitol," he says, eyeballing me like I'm a dumb animal that's had the nerve to challenge him in the woods. He's calm and collected as he moves in for the kill. "What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old," he says venomously.

I can actually feel my heart drop into my stomach like an anvil, and it takes everything in me not to break down and cry.

Katniss, my only friend, if I can even call her that, considering we have so little in common and rarely actually converse, makes an attempt to defend me, saying that it's not my fault. It's very sweet of her, really, trying to rescue me from the icy glare of her actual best friend. She doesn't owe me that. If anything, I'd think she'd be on his side. I know she must have more slips bearing her name in the reaping ball than I do, and she probably doesn't believe that I would ever be chosen.

"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is," says Gale, though his expression is saying otherwise. Even if he can't blame me for the odds being stacked so unfairly against him, nothing will stop him from resenting me for it. That's what everything always seems to boil down to with him. Resentment. He is poor, and I am not. Just the way it is.

If only I hadn't made that stupid comment about going to the Capitol. But he was so sarcastic about my dress and I forgot myself. Forgot how many siblings he has and just how many entries he'll have in the reaping ball after taking out tesserae for them all year after year. How callous I must seem to him, when he's so much more likely to be chosen than I am. I just wanted to remind him that I live in District 12 too, that I'm like him in that way, despite my "pretty dress." But of course, it backfired, like practically every word I've ever spoken to Gale Hawthorne, making him resent me even more. What I can't make sense of is why I still bother speaking to him at all, or why it destroys me every time I fail so completely. I haven't had a decent conversation with him since the winter, which seems like a lifetime ago now.

"Good luck, Katniss," I say, keeping my tone as even as possible. Remembering the reason they're here, I hand her the money my father gave me to pay for the strawberries they brought. I won't say it to Gale. He'd probably just think I was trying to insult him again.

As they turn to leave, Gale exchanges his cold stare for what I can only describe as a smirk. As always, I have no clue at all what it means.

I close the door behind them and lean my back against the cool wood, letting myself slide gradually down to the floor, no doubt dirtying the pristine white of my dress.

Fine, Gale Hawthorne, you want to resent me? Well, go right ahead, because I resent you too. I resent you for treating me like I'm a snob, when I've never acted like I'm better than you. You're the real snob, acting so high and mighty because you've gone through hardships, and because I'm lucky enough not to be starving. I resent you for being so painfully handsome when you smile that I melt at the sight, but you only ever show me that famous scowl or glare instead. And I resent- no, I hate, really hate, that you're the first and only boy who's ever kissed me in my sixteen years, and though I can still remember the wood smoke smell of you, the softness of your lips next to your rough, day-old beard, and the way your steel gray eyes can look so kind behind all that intensity, you act like it never even happened.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm dedicating this chapter to all the Gale lovers out there who cringe at any mention of the notorious slag heap. No more, I say.

Also, fluff warning. Just saying.

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><p><em>Six months before reaping<br>_

My parents' New Year's Eve party is always the social event of the season. That's not really saying much, living in District 12, but it gives my mother something to keep her occupied during the winter. All the planning keeps her in good spirits, and her headaches don't plague her quite as often as usual. Most of the merchants from town are invited, along with all the other officials and underlings my father works with, and even a few of the more well-mannered Peacekeepers. My job is to dress nicely, politely greet the guests, then, once everyone's had enough wine to forget that I exist, sneak off to my room. It never takes long.

This year, though, my mother has decided that I'm old enough to be a more active hostess, and insisted that my father extend the party invitation to some of the merchants' older children as well. My father thought this was just a grand idea, and _doesn't that sound like just a grand idea, Madge_?

For a socially savvy politician and his wife, my parents seem to lack any knowledge in the art of subtlety. _Yes, Dad, grand idea. Perhaps I'll even make a friend or two. Or ten! I'll be popular and carefree, all thanks to you. This party will be a dream come true for me._

I know they mean well. But the truth is, I don't seem to fit in with the town kids. When I was younger, they acted like it was a big privilege to be seen with the mayor's daughter, competing for my attention. Maybe that would have been okay, but none of it felt genuine. I just wanted friends I could be myself with, but they saw me as a high rung on the social ladder. I didn't much care for that.

The Seam kids mostly think I'm a snob. It used to hurt my feelings when they'd whisper things about me at school, calling me a little rich girl, and a princess. It's hard to blame them, though. Their houses are very modest, their clothes more worn out than mine, and their families don't always have enough to eat. If I were them, I probably wouldn't like me either.

These days, I actually prefer being alone. I have lots of time to read, play piano, and entertain hobbies that my parents approve of. Last month it was baking, then pottery, now it's knitting. Unfortunately, all the solitary activities don't quite cut it with my parents. They worry that I'm antisocial, and, _Madge dear, a beautiful, smart, and wonderful girl like you should have lots of friends around_.

_Yes, Dad, you're probably right._

I do count Katniss Everdeen as my friend, but we really only see each other at school. I don't even really remember how we started sitting together at lunch, and pairing up for projects and sports, but once we did, it pretty much stuck. She's from the Seam, and she's not exactly social either, so our friendship largely consists of sitting together quietly, each of us keeping to herself. Still, I like her. If my parents are dead-set on the idea that I need to make friends and socialize, I wouldn't mind starting with Katniss.

Unfortunately for me, she did not receive an invitation to the party.

She did, however, show up this morning with two wild geese that my father quietly requested from her for the party, and a large haul of winter berries. The berries that grow this time of year are too sour for my father's liking, but Nessie, our housekeeper, can use them to make a relish to go with the cooked goose.

"Have fun at the party," Katniss says, pocketing the money I've handed her.

"Yeah," I huff, rolling my eyes. She turns to leave, but suddenly an idea comes to me. "Wait, Katniss," I start.

She raises her eyebrows.

"We need an extra person to work tonight," I improvise. "My parents are so busy getting ready for the party, they asked me to try and find someone." Not exactly the truth, but my mother _was _looking rather frazzled earlier this morning, complaining to herself about not having enough help.

"Doing what, exactly?" asks Katniss.

"Oh, nothing difficult," I answer, a little too eagerly. "Just clearing plates, filling empty glasses, things like that. It wouldn't be too demanding," I assure her. "We already have Nessie and her sister doing the cooking, serving, and cleaning. I think my parents just want someone extra to take care of little details. It would probably just be a lot of standing around," I admit, "but they'll pay well."

Katniss mulls over my offer for a moment, then nods. "Okay, what time?"

I beam at her, so relieved that I'll have a friend here tonight, even if she won't technically be a guest. No matter. There really won't be that much work for her to do, so maybe we'll have a chance to talk, like real friends. And if I'm talking to Katniss, maybe that will appease my parents enough so that I can avoid awkward forced conversations with the town kids.

"Six-thirty. The party starts at seven," I tell her, trying to hide my bubbling excitement.

"Great," she says, giving me what amounts to a smile for Katniss, and leaves.

I close the back door and run through the house with renewed energy to tell my father that we've added one more person to the payroll for the night.

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><p>I've just put on my brand new party dress when I hear an insistent knock on my door. Actually, I've had the dress for a few months now- it was a gift for my birthday- but this is the first occasion I've had to wear it. Strapless, light blue with white trim, and embellished with intricately embroidered flourishes along the bottom, it's one of the finest dresses I own, straight from the Capitol. It's surprisingly tasteful and grown up, considering it came from Haymitch Abernathy, who, judging by most of the gifts he sends me, seems to believe I'm perpetually eight years old. Last year, he sent me a pair of bright pink polka dotted rubber rain boots and a matching umbrella. They're still sitting in the back of my closet, untouched since I opened them.<p>

I haven't yet had time to put up my hair, but I open the door, already knowing that it's only Nessie on the other side. If either of my parents were to come knocking, I might think it's to let me know that the house is on fire. Nessie's hands are on her hips and she looks as if she's about to scold me, but after looking me up and down, she seems to change her mind. "Oh, honey, you look stunning," she says with a smile.

I smooth the front of my dress instinctively. I've never been very comfortable with compliments, even when they come from someone so close to me. "Thank you."

"Your _friend_ is here," she tells me, a disapproving tone emerging in her voice, "waiting in the kitchen. I said you'd be down in a moment with instructions, since apparently you're in charge of things in my kitchen these days."

"I'm sorry, Nessie!" I exclaim, giving her my best innocent look. "I thought Dad would have told you. And anyway, I thought you'd appreciate the extra help," I say earnestly, as if I'd only been thinking of her, instead of coming up with an excuse to get my friend into the party.

She still has one eyebrow raised, and a knowing smirk on her face. She doesn't say anything else though, except, "Mm-hmm," as I dash past her through the hallway, down the stairs, and across the house into the kitchen to greet Katniss.

But when I swing the door open, I'm confused to see that Katniss has apparently transformed into an absurdly tall, broad-shouldered young man in work pants and boots, and a threadbare, gray button-down shirt that, I can only guess, was black at one time. He turns when the kitchen door swings shut and I recognize who Katniss's replacement is.

"Gale Hawthorne," I say, struggling to mask my surprise.

Gale stares at me for several moments with his mouth slightly open, probably trying to remember my first name. I've only spoken to him on the rarest of occasions, and even then, he hasn't exactly spoken back. He hands me strawberries, I hand him money and tell him thank you, and he grunts in response.

"Okay," I say awkwardly, but trying to keep my tone pleasant. "What are you doing here? Where's Katniss?" I ask, looking around the kitchen as if she might actually be here after all and I just haven't spotted her yet.

He shakes his head slightly, and resumes his usual surly expression. "She said you needed someone to work at the party."

"I sort of meant for _her_ to come," I sigh.

He shrugs, which is apparently the only explanation I'm going to get.

I straighten up, and take another look at him. I suppose I got myself into this, for not telling Katniss my real reason for asking her to work. "Well, come on then," I tell him, and start out of the kitchen. He makes no move to follow me, so I turn, holding the door, and see that he's just standing there staring at me with that glazed look again. How does Katniss have the patience for this? Quiet, I can understand, but now I can't help wondering if he's not a little slow, as well.

After a moment of me looking expectantly at him, he seems to snap out of it, and follows me as I lead him through the house to the guest bedroom, which is one door past mine on the second floor. I open the closet and locate several white dress shirts, not quite as crisp as the ones in my father's closet, but they're larger. I can tell with one look that Gale would never fit into one of my father's shirts. My father isn't a small man, but he would look very slight standing next to Gale. I choose a shirt, remove it from the hanger, and hand it to him.

His eyebrows draw together as he studies the shirt in his hands.

"Well, there's nothing to be done about the pants, but this shirt should be fine," I explain. Any pants I could find in our house would probably look like shorts on his ridiculously long legs.

"Is this your father's?" Gale asks, finally using his voice again. It's low and stern, a little gruff. "I can't wear this."

I shake my head. "No, these ones don't really belong to anyone. We mostly keep them around for my uncle Haymitch when he stays here, if he's indisposed for the night. It won't be a perfect fit," I admit, "but it'll certainly work better than one of my father's."

He looks at me suspiciously, almost as if he thinks I'm playing a joke on him, but complies, and starts unbuttoning the shirt he has on. I turn on my heels to face away from him, but the standing mirror next to the dresser cancels out my intention to give him privacy. I look to the floor, but glance back up at his reflection when I notice his lack of an undershirt. I'm sure the white shirt will be fine, thick enough so no one will be able to tell. My next thought, taking in his lean muscular form, has nothing at all to do with proper dress, and it suddenly makes sense why I've overheard the girls at school admiring him. I force my eyes back to the floor though, remembering Katniss. Even though she's always denied rumors about the two of them being a couple, it still feels wrong to think of him as attractive.

"So, you'll be mostly sticking to the main room, taking plates to the kitchen to be washed, giving drink refills if you see empty glasses," I say, trying to keep my gaze locked on my feet, clad in the simple white heels I borrowed from my mother's collection. "Most of the guests will drink red, but a few of the ladies prefer white. It's pretty easy to tell. Just look for the snobbiest ladies whose noses are highest in the air, and give them white." I chuckle awkwardly at my own joke, feeling slightly asinine. The thought occurs to me he might not even know that I'm talking about wine.

I turn back around to face him when his shirt is almost buttoned. He looks at me, clearly surprised by my jab at my parents' guests. Now it's his turn to surprise me, because he actually smiles. It's the first one I've ever seen on his face, and I feel a bit flustered at the sight.

"Anyway," I continue, "just keep your eyes open, keep the place tidy, and do anything else Nessie tells you to. She's the housekeeper who let you in," I tell him.

"I know her. She's a friend of my mother's," Gale says, tucking the shirt in.

Of course. I always forget that Nessie goes home to the Seam at night. I'd guess that she and Gale's mother could be around the same age, so it makes sense that they would know each other. "Right, perfect," I say, then glance at the clock on the nightstand. "Well, I need to finish getting ready, fix my hair and all that, so if you want to head back downstairs-"

Gale cuts me off. "What's wrong with it?" he asks.

"Huh?" Apparently, he startled proper words from my vocabulary.

He looks down, those dark eyebrows of his furrowed, and starts attempting to fold the gray shirt on the guest bed. "The hair," he grunts. "It looks fine. You should just leave it like that."

My hand instinctively reaches up and pulls on a lock of my hair. "Oh, um, okay, I-"

"Or don't," he interrupts me again. "I mean, do whatever you were going to," he backpedals, concentrating hard on his pitiful folding technique.

I'm not sure how to respond, so I don't. I do, however, feel the need to end his struggling with the shirt, so I take it from him and put it onto an empty hanger and place it in the closet. It looks even more tattered hanging there in a row with all the bright white ones that are all practically brand new.

I look back and catch Gale rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "I'll go get to work," he says, and disappears from the room.

I exhale loudly, only just becoming aware that I'd been holding my breath, then head to my bedroom, but only after standing and inexplicably staring at the doorway for several moments.

In my room, I spot the beige cotton dress I had picked out for Katniss sitting on my bed. Letting out a sigh, I hang it back in my closet. It's one of my older dresses, and very simple, but I thought it would look pretty on her. It's not that I wouldn't have lent her a nicer dress, but I doubt she would have felt comfortable in anything too fancy. Plus, though she's a few inches taller, I think she might wear a slightly smaller size than I do. I'm not large by any standard, it's just that Seam girls are almost always so thin.

Clothes don't get me terribly excited, not the way I hear some of the town girls gushing about new dresses and hair ribbons, but for some reason, I liked the idea of lending my dress to Katniss. Maybe some other time.

I take a seat in front of my vanity, and assess my hair. I almost always wear it up in a plain ponytail for school, keeping it out of my face, but tonight I had planned something slightly more intricate. It never occurred to me to just wear it loose to a party, like how it is now, my blonde waves falling past my shoulders. It doesn't seem formal enough somehow. I take the lid off a small glass container of hair pins, and start to sweep the hair back from my face, but something stops me. The gray eyes, the dark furrowed brows, the awkward stammering, telling me I should leave my hair as it is. It wasn't exactly a compliment, but for some reason I can't begin to fathom, I decide to take Gale Hawthorne's advice.

* * *

><p>"Darling, you know the Mellark boys, don't you?" my mother is asking me, but I'm distracted.<br>"Hmm? Oh, yes, hello," I say to the baker's sons, standing in a row in front of me by order of height, like a set of blonde nesting dolls. The youngest is in my year at school, and we share several classes. He's fairly popular, and nice enough, though we've rarely spoken. The middle brother has a bit of a reputation with girls, and looks as if he'd rather be anywhere but at the mayor's house on New Year's Eve. The eldest, whom I've only seen at the bakery, smiles warmly at me. He looks the most like their father, who is engaging enthusiastically in pointless small talk with my mother. Thankfully, I don't see Mrs. Mellark around, but I'm sure she'll turn up soon enough and try to convince one of her sons to court me. She's definitely part of the group of town mothers who want their sons to marry for status, instead of something silly, like love. This group always finds me to be particularly charming somehow, even before they've met me. I steal a glance at the large clock above the fireplace. Quarter past seven. Great. The night has only just started.

After exchanging pleasantries with the Mellarks, I turn my attention back to the misshapen vase of flowers sitting on an end table near the piano. As soon as I can excuse myself without being rude, I dash over to grab the vase and whisk it away into the kitchen.

"Is there a glass vase I can put these flowers in?" I ask Nessie as soon as I swing the door open.

She peers over her shoulder at me, then turns her attention back to the berry relish she's transferring from a large pot on the stove to a serving dish. "In the top cabinet on the right, honey," she tells me, without inquiring further as to why I need it.

I set the eyesore down on the counter and reach to open the top cabinet. Even in my heels, I can barely get it open, let alone reach the glassware on the very top shelf. I start to huff about this ridiculous kitchen being built for giants, when suddenly, one comes to my aid.

"This one?" Gale asks, towering over me, holding the vase I had been coveting, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Thank you," I say, still frowning. "No need to gloat."

I fill the glass vase with water and move the flowers over, slightly rearranging them and removing a few stray petals, then I dump out the water from the old vase and stash it in the cabinet under the sink, far behind the cleaning supplies.

When I stand back up, I'm startled to find that Gale's still smirking at me. "Something wrong with that one?"

I roll my eyes. "My parents just don't seem to know when to admit that there are certain art forms for which I have no talent. Pottery being one of them."

Gale's smirk changes into a genuine smile, which takes me by surprise for the second time tonight. "You made that ugly thing?"

My eyes go wide at his candor, and my mouth drops open. I'm about to defend my horrific creation, but instead, all I can do is laugh. "Yeah," I say. "Pretty bad, huh?"

"Hideous," Gale agrees, chuckling quietly.

"I don't know why they insist on decorating the house with my failed projects," I say, picking up the new vase and heading back toward the door. Gale snatches a freshly opened bottle of wine from the counter and follows me back through the dining room to the party.

"Parents think it's their duty to embarrass us every chance they get," he says. "Then they pretend that's not what they were going for at all."

"Yeah," I agree, "and they probably laugh about it when we're not around."

"It's an injustice. Although, you might deserve to be the subject of ridicule for that awful vase," he says, shooting me a wry smile.

I squint at him, trying to figure out what this light-hearted stranger did with the stoic Gale Hawthorne who first arrived at my house this evening. I'm not sure how to react to the change, but it suits him well.

He breaks away to fill the guests' glasses with wine, and I place the flowers back on the end table in their much more aesthetically pleasing display. When I glance back toward him, the broad smile has faded slightly, but I think I can still see a trace of humor in his expression. He looks up from pouring Mrs. Mellark's drink and meets my gaze. My first reaction is to dart my eyes in a different direction, but for some reason, I don't. Instead, I smile, and he smiles back. And even though Katniss isn't here, I get the distinct feeling that maybe I do have a friend here tonight after all.

"No, no," Mrs. Mellark chastises Gale loudly, startling the smile from his face. "Didn't you hear me? I wanted _white_ wine, boy!"

Gale swiftly meets my eye again, letting his mouth drop open for a moment. I don't bother stifling my laughter.

* * *

><p>After a few hours of being introduced to people I already know, and listening to just how much I have in common with the florist's daughter or the grocer's son, I finally manage to slip away into my father's den for a much needed break. I take a seat on the small brown leather sofa next to the bookcase, and curl my legs up under me. The heels are starting to hurt my feet, so I take them off and toss them to the floor.<p>

Just when I begin to relax for a moment, the door opens and I realize I must have been spotted ducking in here, and followed, by the middle Mellark brother.

"Not much for parties?" he asks, smirking.

"Not really," I admit.

The Mellark boy, whose first name I simply can't keep in my head, shoves his hands in his pants pockets and meanders around the room, looking with interest at all my father's belongings. "Usually the kids from school throw a pretty good New Year's party out behind the school, but most of our parents made us come here this year," he tells me. I can't tell if he's bragging about his many social engagements or complaining that he's stuck here. "Are we allowed to be in here?" he asks, grinning mischievously at me. He unsheathes one of his large hands and runs his fingers along the surface of my father's prized antique globe.

"Don't touch that," I snap, and he draws his hand back. "And_ I_ am. It's my house. You, however, could get in a lot of trouble," I warn him casually. It's not true, no one would really mind much, but I want to be left alone, if only for a few minutes.

He doesn't seem deterred though. "Well, if I get caught, I'll just say you invited me," he says, claiming the seat next to me on the sofa, which seems to have gotten smaller in an instant. I don't appreciate the way he's wagging those blonde eyebrows at me. It's clear now, in this close proximity, that he's the most handsome of the brothers, more chiseled than the other two. He has a sturdy frame, like them, but his jaw is slightly more angular, his cheekbones more defined, while his brothers look rather soft. He's handsome, I'll give him that, but his arrogance earns him a scowl from me.

He ignores it. "I like your hair like this, Madge," he says, boldly reaching over and twirling a lock in his fingers.

My scowl turns to a stone glare and I swat his hand away. He gives me a playfully shocked look, and seems to be encouraged by the rejection. He leans further toward me, but before he can make another move, the door flies open and I exhale in relief to see my savior stumble in, in the form of Haymitch Abernathy.

Mellark stiffens and draws back from me, and we both stare at Haymitch, who doesn't seem to notice that anyone else is occupying the room. He looks around for a moment, then spots my father's globe and lunges for it.

"No!" I cry out, but before I can scramble to my feet, Haymitch roughly pulls back on the globe, spitting it in half horizontally. I gasp, horrified to think that he's broken it, but taking a closer look, I'm even more shocked. Tucked away neatly inside the bottom half of the globe is a large bottle of brown liquor, and four matching drinking glasses. My jaw drops in surprise. First at my father who, on the rare occasion he has to actually drink wine, never finishes a second glass; and then at myself, for not discovering this secret in all my years of snooping through my parents' belongings out of sheer boredom.

While I'm busy coming to this realization, Haymitch has already downed two glasses of the stuff, and is going for a third.

"Oh, Haymitch, no," I plead, putting my hand on his forearm. He drinks down the third glass anyway, before finally noticing me.

"Madge," he slurs happily, "I knew you'd be pretty as a picture in that dress." He's smiling at me through half-closed eyes, and gradually leaning more and more of his weight onto me. I look behind me for help, but it seems as though my wish from earlier has been granted too late, because Mellark has disappeared from the den.

"Seriously?" I grumble quietly, as Haymitch's weight threatens to bring us both to the floor. I manage to use all the strength I have to heave him toward the sofa, and he lands there. Or, his top half does. His bottom half is on the floor, and it doesn't take long for his top half to slide down from the sofa as well, and he allows himself to spread out on the carpet comfortably.

I run a hand through my hair, surveying the damage. Quickly, I pry the glass from Haymitch's fingers and place it back into the compartment, along with the bottle of liquor that's now almost empty, and replace the top of the globe. Now that my father's secret is hidden away again, I peek out the door into the hallway to search for help. No one there. I sigh, and slowly make my way toward the main room, trying not to be seen by anyone who'll try and suck me into yet another tedious conversation. After a desperate moment, I spot someone who could possibly help me standing against the wall by the piano, holding a bottle of wine, scanning the crowd.

"Gale," I whisper, trying not to draw anyone else's attention. It works too well, because even he doesn't hear me. "Gale!" I whisper louder, and he perks up. He notices me, and the frantic look that's most likely plastered on my face, and he walks over to me with a curious look.

"I need help," I tell him, and he follows me into the den without question. "Can you help me get him upstairs?" I ask apologetically, gesturing at the crumpled drunken man on the floor.

Gale gives me a knowing look and nods, because just about everyone in District 12 is quite aware of our only living Hunger Games victor's fondness for the drink. He manages to prop Haymitch up, stooping down underneath his right arm, while I place myself under the left. Gale's carrying most of the weight, but I'm keeping him balanced, and apparently distracted.

"Maysilee," he mumbles, frowning perplexedly down at me.

"No, Uncle, it's just Madge," I remind him patiently. I'm used to the slip.

"Madge," he seems to agree. "Pretty as a picture," he says, then turns to Gale, finally noticing him. "Didn't my Madge grow up pretty?" he asks.

Gale doesn't skip a beat. "She sure did, Mr. Abernathy," he says, glancing at me over the top of Haymitch's head as we reach the staircase. Even though I know he's just humoring the town drunk, I can't help but blush.

Some of the guests notice us starting up the stairs, and I hear a few hushed comments. Gale seems to pick up on it, because he says rather loudly, and in a more formal tone than I'd expect from him, "You're just fine, aren't you Mr. Abernathy? Just had a long day of celebrating. We'll get you settled upstairs and let everyone enjoy the party."

I spot my father in the crowd as we near the top of the stairs, looking relieved. I manage to smile gratefully at Gale. Luckily, we're out of earshot by the time Haymitch starts grunting dangerously about the Capitol scum and their parties, but Gale reassures him. "We're not in the Capitol. We're right here in Twelve, at the mayor's house."

This confuses Haymitch slightly, until he looks down at me with recognition. "That's right," he mumbles. "My little Madge is here." He grins widely. "I came to see you, you know. I don't see you enough," he tells me.

Finally, we reach the guest room and lead him inside. When we manage to sit him down on the bed, he falls back instantly and closes his eyes. "Don't see you enough," he repeats quietly.

"Well, you can stay for breakfast and see me in the morning," I promise him as Gale helps me reposition him on the bed. I move around to the foot of the bed and remove his shoes.

He lifts his head frantically. "You're the only good one," he barks gruffly at me, looking slightly angry, then shifts his glare to Gale accusingly.

"Now, Uncle, don't say that," I chide. "There are plenty of good ones." I place his shoes on the floor of the closet, leaving it open so he'll find them easily in the morning.

He lets his head fall back to the pillow and continues mumbling, but he's basically incoherent now, so I motion to Gale that we should discreetly leave the room.

Once we're in the hallway, he shuts the door behind us, and I lean against the wall and close my eyes for a few seconds to collect myself. When I open them again, Gale's staring at me.

"What?" I ask, sounding more tired than I actually feel.

"He sure thinks the world of you," he notes, leaning against the wall next to me.

I shrug, running my finger absentmindedly over a flaw in the wallpaper behind me. "Only on these occasions when he has an excuse to drink twice as much as usual. Some days, he doesn't even say hello to me," I explain. "Besides, I think just remind him of someone he used to know."

I expect Gale to inquire about who, but he doesn't. "I didn't know he was your uncle," he mentions.

"Oh, he isn't really," I tell him, feeling a little silly. "He just likes when I call him that. He doesn't have any family." I pause for a moment, then remember my manners. "Thank you for helping me with him."

Gale shakes his head. "Just doing what I'm told," he says and pushes off from the wall. "I should get back to work."

I stiffen, standing up straight as well. "Wait," I blurt before he can turn away. "It's getting closer to midnight," I stammer. "No one's eating anymore, and they're all getting drinks for themselves now. I doubt they're missing you much down there."

He frowns. "So, are you telling me to go home?" he asks.

My eyes widen in panic at his misinterpretation. "No," I say, a bit too enthusiastically. "I just mean, I was trying to take a break from the party when Haymitch found me, and I thought maybe you could use a break too, and..." I trail off, blushing furiously and focusing very hard on the polished wood floor.

He lets me hang for a moment before responding. "So, you want to get some fresh air then?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

I look up at him, and he's not smiling exactly, but his expression, for once, seems to be inviting, and oddly warm. It's not a bad look on him, but it throws me off. I try to answer verbally, but for some reason, that doesn't work out, so I just nod.

"Okay," he says.

"Okay," I manage to say back. He stays planted in one spot, so I lead the way, starting back toward the stairs.

"Um, Madge?" He still hasn't moved.

"Yeah?" I ask, worried he's suddenly changed his mind.

He tilts his head toward my feet, and I look down. I'm still barefoot from when I kicked off my shoes in the den. "Right," I say, feeling sheepish. "Shoes might be a good idea."

I walk back the other way toward my bedroom, deciding to forgo the white heels for something more comfortable. Plus, I don't want to risk running into Middle Mellark while I'm retrieving them, on the chance that he went back to the den looking to twirl more of my hair and whatever else he might have in mind.

Gale follows me down the hall, but lingers in the doorway of my room. "Come in if you want," I offer. "I'm just going to grab some shoes and a coat."

He takes exactly two steps into my room, and looks around as if he's stepped onto the surface of another planet. I bite my lip, realizing that I've never actually had anyone outside my family in my bedroom before, and the thought of Gale Hawthorne, the moody boy from the Seam, being the first is just too strange. But, as unlikely as it may seem, here he is, and I allow myself a smile at the possibility of counting him as a friend.

I open the closet door to locate my heavy dress coat, and I hear a loud exhale from behind me. I turn to see Gale shaking his head.

"What?" I ask him.

"Nothing," he says quickly.

I narrow my eyes and purse my lips waiting for him to give me a better answer.

"My little sister would be in heaven if she saw all those clothes," he says, smirking.

I get the feeling that's not the reason for his initial reaction, but I let it go. "How old is she?" I ask.

"Four," he answers, then lets out a chuckle. "Going on sixteen."

I smile, trying to imagine a tiny girl version of Gale. I can't do it. Not with those eyebrows. "Sounds like we'd get along. My parents always say I'm sixteen going on sixty."

He laughs hard, surprising me, and probably himself. "Yeah, I can see why," he says, nodding toward the knitting needles and half-finished blue scarf sitting on my nightstand.

"Hey!" I start, but he has a point, and I have to laugh with him.

"Although," he says, giving me that half smile again, "I can't picture a sixty-year-old wearing that dress as well as you do."

I automatically look to the floor, unsure if he's still joking or if he just gave me a compliment. Either way, I blush, and focus my attention back on my closet, removing my coat from the hanger, and sliding my feet into some comfortable flats.

"So, your sister likes clothes?" I ask, remembering our conversation as we exit my room. He closes the door behind us.

"Yeah, she loves to dress up," he answers. "My mother does the washing for a lot of people in town, and Posy always begs to try on the dresses, even if they'd be enormous on her." He pauses, then flashes a guilty look. "My mother never lets her, of course."

I shrug, unsure why he felt the need to clarify that to me. "I was never very big on clothes," I tell him, as we make our way slowly down the stairs. "I know I have a lot, but they were mostly gifts, and it's not like I have any reason to wear nice dresses most of the time."

He looks at me oddly, but doesn't say anything. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I realize we're back in party territory, so I grab his hand and hurriedly lead him out of the main room into the front hallway. Once we're away from the party guests, I slow down again.

"Don't want to get caught?" he asks. His hand feels warm entangled with mine, and I hesitate slightly before letting go.

"Definitely not," I say. "I wouldn't be in trouble or anything, my parents would just drag me into some more pointless conversations with town kids they'd like me to be friends with."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Gale notes passively.

"It is," I insist.

"I guess it must be, if you'd prefer taking a walk in the middle the night in the winter with a Seam kid who's supposed to be cleaning up after the party," he teases.

I wrap myself in my coat, then open the hall closet. "Even if there were a blizzard out there, it would be a vast improvement." I rifle through all the coats hanging inside, and pull one out that's about the same shade of gray as the shirt he was wearing when he arrived. "Is this one yours?" I ask, holding it out to him.

"Yeah," he says reluctantly, "how'd you guess? Because it's the oldest, rattiest thing in there?"

"No," I say, frowning. "It was the one with the longest arms." He's more sensitive about the state of his possessions than I would have thought. I figured boys didn't care much either way about how they looked, town or Seam.

"Oh," he replies. "That makes sense too," he admits. "Bunch of midgets at this party," he mutters under his breath as he buttons the coat, then smiles slyly down at me.

"Easy, behemoth," I say, wishing I was still wearing the heels that added a few extra inches to my stature. "At least I don't get nosebleeds down here."

Gale's jaw drops and he lets out a deep laugh. "Nice one, Undersee," he says, sounding surprised.

I flash him a proud, toothy grin, before taking one last glance back toward the party, then happily skip out the front door that he's holding open for me. Goosebumps form on my legs in the winter air, but it isn't quite as cold as I expected it to be so late at night. In a few weeks, it'll most likely be snowing, and bare legs outside will be unbearable.

"How close to midnight did you say it was?" Gale asks, his breath forming a tiny cloud in front of his face.

"I'd say about a half hour," I tell him. "Why?"

"Come on," he says, stepping down off the front porch. "I have an idea."

His face is hard to read, but I think I can detect a slight note of mischief in his eyes. Maybe it should put me ill at ease, but it doesn't. He's not leering at me like the Mellark boy was, and even though I barely know him, he seems trustworthy somehow.

So, I follow him. I walk briskly behind him, trying to keep up with his impossibly long strides. For someone so large, he's quick and light on his feet. After a moment though, he seems to notice me struggling and slows his pace to match mine.

We're quiet as we make our way into the empty town square, and Gale whispers that we should stick to the shadows to avoid trouble.

"No Peacekeepers out tonight," I inform him. "A few of them are at my father's party, but the rest take the night off."

"How do you know that?" he asks me, sounding doubtful.

I shrug. "I know their schedules pretty well," I say casually. "I have a really good view of the square from my bedroom. They take most holiday nights off unless there's some kind of gathering."

"Huh," is his only reply. He seems to believe me though, because he leads me through the center of town without bothering trying to keep hidden.

"You're not going to tell me where we're going?" I ask after several minutes, peering sideways at Gale.

He chuckles dryly. "If I told you, you wouldn't want to go."

"That sounds ominous," I say, frowning.

"We could always go back," he suggests, and I have to look over to see if he's teasing. I think he is, but it's so hard to tell.

"No," I reply, "I suppose I'll risk it."

I see him smile out of the corner of my eye, and I can't help but ask the question that's been in my mind for most of the night. "Gale?" I ask, and he turns. "What changed?"

He raises his eyebrows in question.

"I mean, from earlier," I clarify. "You seem like you're in a better mood is all."

He looks slightly uncomfortable and I begin to regret asking, but eventually he answers. "I just felt a little out of place at your house," he finally admits. "And seeing you..." he pauses, and seems to struggle to find the right words, "outside of school, kind of threw me off."

"You've seen me outside of school plenty of times," I remind him.

He kicks a small rock with his boot, sending it flying way out in front of us. I hadn't even noticed until now that we've left the paved road and ended up on the dirt path that leads away from town. I think for a moment that he might be leading me toward the meadow just past the Seam, but instead, we veer in the opposite direction. "Not looking like that," he says, shaking his head.

Once again, he's rendered me speechless by one of his surprising comments that I have no clue how to interpret. Luckily, he doesn't let the awkward silence drag out for too long.

"But anyway, Nessie called me on it," he continues. "She told me to suck it up and stop being strange," he says, rolling his eyes. Yeah, that sounds like Nessie. "Then she gave me a birthday present," he adds.

I stop walking suddenly and turn to face him. "It's your birthday?" I ask, my eyes wide. "Today?"

He continues along the path, passing me up, and I have to rush to catch up with him again. "It will be in a few minutes," he says. "Come on, we're almost there."

Before I can wish him a happy birthday, I look around to see what he means, and what our destination could possibly be, way out here. "Gale," I say with hesitation, "you're not taking me to the mines?" The thought fills me with dread. The annual field trips our school takes there are more than enough for me.

Gale laughs. "No, don't worry. We wouldn't have as good a view from there."

I let out a sigh of relief, and continue to follow him past the building that houses the foreman's office and the elevator that leads deep down into the mines. He leads me to the base of an enormous and unnaturally black hill, then he stops and looks at me. "Up we go," he says without a trace of humor, climbing a few steps up onto the steep mound.

I stare at him open-mouthed, unable to hide my disdain. "You're joking," I say incredulously. "The slag heap? This was your plan?"

A wide grin spreads across his face at my reaction. "It'll be worth it, I swear," he insists, and offers his hand to me. "Do you trust me?"

I look at his hand, then up to his face, at that incredible smile that's lighting him up from inside like a giddy child and giving me a strange fluttering sensation in my stomach. Yes, Gale Hawthorne, I trust you. Keep smiling at me like that and I might just follow you anywhere.

I slip my hand into his, and he wraps my frozen fingers securely in his warm grip, and I pull myself up. The surface of the slag heap sinks slightly under my feet, and I let out an involuntary squeak, fearing it might swallow me whole.

Gale keeps making his way up, still holding tightly to my hand, effectively dragging me up along with him. "It's easier if you climb faster," he says. "You won't sink down so much."

I try to follow his advice, not exactly having much choice in the matter, considering he's pulling me along. I start to lose my footing a few times, but Gale catches me before I have a chance to fall.

When we reach the top, I'm relieved to find a somewhat flat surface, and I smile with a sense of accomplishment. I glance down at my feet, and discover that they've been blackened by coal dust up past my ankles. Good thing I didn't wear my mother's white heels after all.

I realize that Gale's still holding onto my hand, and I look up at him, but he's looking past me into the distance. I turn to follow his gaze, then gasp. "Oh," is all I can say.

We can see the whole town from here. My house, the shining beacon in the center, just beside the town square, is lit much brighter than the rest, but we can see other houses lit up as well, despite the late hour. Even in the Seam, the electricity's on and the lights in the windows shine, creating a twinkling display below us.

Haymitch told me once that the only thing he could ever bear about the Capitol is the view at night from above. _If you have earplugs to drown out the sound of the flamboyant pigs partying to their spoiled hearts' content, you might actually enjoy the sight._ I'm sure our humble town isn't much to see compared to the bright lights of the Capitol, but from here, District 12 actually looks beautiful.

"I told you it'd be worth it," Gale says, giving my hand a light squeeze before letting go to remove his coat. He lays it down by our feet and sits down next to it, on the black surface, then gestures for me to sit down beside him on the coat.

"Aren't you cold?" I ask, hugging my coat closer around my body.

"Nah," he says, "this isn't cold."

I shake my head, thinking he must be crazy, but I accept the offer and sit down. "It _is_ pretty from up here," I admit, when I hear a quiet rumbling noise and look to Gale. "Hungry?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "I skipped out on dinner to work at the party."

"You could have eaten at my house," I say, frowning. "There was a whole table full of food."

Gale looks at me like I've lost my mind. "For guests."

"No one would have minded," I insist. "I guess I should have told you," I say, feeling guilty that he's gone hungry the whole night.

He just smirks though, and reaches into his pocket. "Well, now I don't have to feel so bad about swiping these," he says, carefully pulling out a napkin from his pocket and unwrapping it to reveal several cookies, obviously taken from the dessert table at the party.

I gasp exaggeratedly and shake my head in mock disapproval. "I can't believe you."

His eyes widen for a moment, but he quickly realizes I'm teasing him and nudges me with his shoulder. He pops a cookie into his mouth and offers one to me, but I shake my head, and he puts them back into his pocket. "I'll bring the rest home for the kids," he says.

"Which house is yours?" I ask, looking toward the Seam.

"Hmm," he says, then points. "That one, I think, with the two windows. I'm not sure, they all look the same from here. Except yours," he adds.

"Yeah, I guess it's hard to miss. It's just a house though, not so intimidating," I say, feeling brave and copying him, nudging him with my shoulder. My teasing gesture backfires slightly though, because it feels like I just bumped into a large rock. "I'm glad Nessie made you get over it."

He laughs. "She's like my mother, no time for nonsense." There's a lightness to him when he speaks about his family, like in my room when he mentioned his little sister. It's hard to imagine the cranky Gale I thought I'd been acquainted with having such a tender side.

"Do you think they're awake right now, your family?" I ask, looking back toward the house he pointed to. "Celebrating the New Year?"

He shrugs. "Vick and Posy probably tried to stay up, then passed out hours ago. My mother and Rory might still be awake, playing games. Good thing tomorrow's Sunday, because the kids will probably all want to sleep in."

"Oh," I say, remembering, "and it's your birthday tomorrow. What will you do?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing much," he says. "It's just a day. We don't exactly do parties or cakes or anything. Besides, I'm turning eighteen. Birthday parties are mostly for kids, I think."

I look down to the bottom of my dress sticking out underneath my coat, thinking about the extravagant gifts I usually receive from my parents and their friends. Sitting next to Gale, on his birthday, I suddenly wish I was wearing anything but this ridiculous dress.

"Well, you said Nessie gave you a gift," I mention, trying to mask the shame I'm feeling. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to pick up on it.

Chuckling softly, he nods. "Yeah, she did."

"And?" I laugh. "What was it?"

He shakes his head. "It was just some good advice, that's all."

I purse my lips. Nessie does give good advice, and I want to ask what it was, but he's so choosy with his words, I decide not to press. "Oh."

He turns to face me, dropping his smile and letting those intense gray eyes explore my face, and suddenly the fluttering feeling in my stomach is back. It's not unpleasant, but it's strange and very new, and seems to make normal breathing an impossible task.

"She told me that the prettiest girl at the ball never gets asked to dance," he says, the half-smile returning to his face.

I swallow audibly, or at least, it sounds booming to me, as does my pulse. "That's a little cryptic for Nessie," I say when I finally find my voice. "What did she mean?"

"Boy," Gale says with a sigh, "she said you don't have a clue, and she really wasn't kidding. I think it was Nessie's way of telling me not to make assumptions about you. The prettiest girl at the ball never gets asked to dance because everyone assumes she's already taken. Or that they're just not good enough for her." He pauses, and I hope the darkness is enough to hide the blush that I can feel burning my cheeks. "Your house wasn't what made me nervous, Madge."

My heart is pounding so hard, he must be deaf not to hear it. "I've never heard you talk so much," I blurt, knowing it's not even close to being the right thing to say, but unable to think of anything else.

Gale leans in close, so I can feel the warmth radiating from him. My breathing pattern changes from ragged and shallow to non-existent as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and lets his hand linger on my cheek. He studies me briefly for a reaction. "It's never been my strong suit," he whispers, and leans in closer.

I've never been kissed before. At least, not since Sarek Crisp chased me across the schoolyard when we were six and planted one on my cheek after his friends dared him. And I don't think that time counts. It wasn't exactly a picture of romance. Not compared to now, at midnight on New Year's Eve, with a beautiful view and no one else around. No one but Gale Hawthorne and me.

He leans in until our faces are almost touching, and I close my eyes, feeling dizzy, the moment of anticipation threatening to last a lifetime before he brushes my lips with his. Slowly, he slides his hand from my cheek around to the back of my neck, letting his long fingers stretch up into my hair. I can only assume he knows what he's doing, and since I don't, I try hard to relax and let him take the lead. He's gentle, yet insistent in the way he moves his mouth with mine, and when he parts my lips to kiss me more deeply, tasting me, it doesn't feel strange or foreign like I imagined it might. Instead, it makes me want more of him somehow. He seems to feel the same way, because he expertly snakes a hand through the front of my coat to grip my waist and pull me closer to him. My stomach does a flip at the contact, thrilled and terrified that there's nothing between his hand and my body except a thin layer of expensive blue fabric, and I can feel tiny explosions going off in my chest.

The next second, we're startled apart by the sound of an actual explosion in the distance. We whip our heads to look toward the sound. The sky above my house is lit up with gold and silver, sparkling brighter than all the stars on the clearest night ever could, and I can't suppress an awkward giggle at the fact that my first kiss ended in fireworks.

The first one that surprised us is followed by two more, and from this distance they're even more spectacular than they would be from the party, where every year before now, the sound would ring in my ears for hours, and the smell of the smoke lingers in the air for too long. From here, they look magical.

"Happy New Year," Gale says quietly, pulling me back close to him again.

I look up to meet his gaze, marveling at how he could have been so handsome all this time while I never really noticed. "Happy birthday," I whisper, and I feel a smile on his lips as he presses them back onto mine.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks so much to all who reviewed, especially Solaryllis, who was awesome enough to recommend this to the readers of her story "Saturday Night in the Seam", which is one of my new favorite Gadge tales.

This chapter will take place during the "present", on the day of the reaping. I'll be switching off the timelines, so chapter 4 will take place after the New Year's party. The timelines, obviously, don't have the same tone, and the "present" will be slightly darker.

Warning: If you loved how happy the last chapter was, you might be mad at me for continuing the story, because, well, it's still The Hunger Games. Happy doesn't last long. There will be happy moments, but nothing like chapter 2. You've been warned!

Some dialogue was taken directly from the book. Not mine!_  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Reaping<em>

I hold my breath. _Please not me._

I always hold my breath when Effie Trinket, the exhaustively enthusiastic woman who serves as District 12's escort to the Capitol, reaches into the reaping ball. I can't help it. Even if Gale believes that my name won't be chosen, I don't share his confidence. Plenty of kids from town have been chosen before. Granted, not as often as Seam kids, but still, it happens. My mother's own sister, for example, was a tribute, long before I was born. Of course, that was the year of the second Quarter Quell, during which the rules were changed and twice as many children from each district were reaped. But she was chosen, all the same, and died brutally. So, I hold my breath as Effie draws a slip of paper from the glass ball, knowing that it's possible I could meet the same fate, no matter what the wise Gale Hawthorne has to say about it.

"Primrose Everdeen," Effie calls, and I let myself exhale for only a moment before I realize what's happened. Katniss's sister, Prim, who's only twelve, has been called. I may not know much about Katniss's life outside of school, but I do know that Prim is the one thing in the world that Katniss truly cares about. Surely, this will devastate her.

I hear Katniss call out her sister's name, and when I spot her in the crowd, she's rushing to follow Prim, who is stiffly making her way toward the stage. I can see Katniss frantically pushing her sister behind her protectively. "I volunteer!" she yelps. "I volunteer as tribute!"

My eyes go wide, along with so many others in the crowd. My first thought is, no, not Katniss. Almost immediately, though, the thought is replaced by understanding. It's her only option. She can't let her sister die. Not after she's spent the years since their father's death practically raising Prim on her own, fighting just to keep her fed. Of course she'll volunteer to take her place.

Effie prattles on about the proper procedure for volunteers, and thankfully, my father interrupts, telling her to let Katniss come forward. His eyes find me briefly, and I nod in thanks to my poor, kind father, who already lets the forced festivities of the Hunger Games take their emotional toll on him, and who knows Katniss is the closest thing I have to a friend. The thought of her being shipped off to the Capitol to die in the Games is almost too much to bear. I feel like crying, but the tears won't come.

I spot Gale helping her up to the stage, and holding back Prim, who looks hysterical and heartbroken. For one ridiculous moment, my emotions betray me, and I catch myself feeling jealous of the tenderness he shows to Katniss, the pain I can see in his eyes as she moves across the stage away from him. Immediately, I hate myself for it, and banish the thought from my mind. What a horrible girl I must be, to have bitter thoughts right now, no matter how fleeting, as Katniss, a truly amazing and self-sacrificing person, marches toward the promise of death. It's really no wonder he loves her and not me.

When Effie tactlessly calls for applause, it makes me feel sick. And apparently I'm not the only one, because no one in the crowd makes a sound. It's a terrible and beautiful moment, and I feel proud that the rest of District 12 recognizes, like I do, just how big a loss this is. There is no one like Katniss.

The moment is interrupted, however, by an embarrassing outburst from Haymitch, who accidentally takes a dive off the stage and has to be removed from the scene before the show can continue. I can't help feeling slightly worried about him.

Compared to the beginning, which seems endless every year, the rest of the ceremony goes by in a blur. The youngest Mellark brother, Peeta, is chosen, with much less excitement, considering no one volunteers for him. It's no surprise. No one ever volunteers in our district. Katniss is the first I've ever heard of. Besides, I've come to know Peeta's brother, the one who isn't too old for the Games, and he's not the type to do anything that doesn't serve himself in some way. If he volunteered to take his younger brother's place, I'd die of shock right here.

My father begins to recite the Treaty of Treason, but I'm not paying attention. I'm looking only at Katniss, and wishing I could do something for her. Anything that might help.

Suddenly, I realize there is one thing I can offer. It's not much, but it's the only thing I have to give. As soon as my father finishes reading the Treaty, I watch Katniss shake Peeta Mellark's hand, and our national anthem plays. I bounce on my toes, waiting for the final notes to end, and when they do, I squirm through the crowd of girls with some difficulty, and dart into the Justice Building. A group of Peacekeepers are already leading Katniss to a room where she can have one last goodbye with her loved ones. She's ushered past me with a vacant look in her eyes. She doesn't even register that I'm here.

I'm the first one to arrive who wants to visit with her, but I can see Mrs. Everdeen and Prim approaching down the hallway, and I decide to let them go ahead of me. They're her loved ones after all. I'm just a girl she knows from school.

They don't really seem to notice my presence either. Mrs. Everdeen holds Prim against her, gently stroking her blonde hair, trying to keep them both calm. I move my eyes elsewhere, feeling like an intruder in their grief. As much as I care for Katniss, idolize her even, I'm not a part of her family, and I can't truly feel the emotional gravity of the moment as they do.

I fix my gaze across the hallway, where the Mellarks are waiting to see Peeta. The eldest brother has a hand on his father's shoulder, and is saying something to him that I can't quite hear. The baker is nodding grimly, his eyes shining, fixed on the closed door between them and his youngest son. Mrs. Mellark's mouth has formed a straight line while she glares into the distance, and the other son, the handsome one whose name I'd prefer to forget, is staring at me. The moment I realize this, I dart my eyes back to my side of the hall, overcome with guilt, but unsure why. Maybe it's because Peeta has been nothing but sweet to me the few times we've spoken, and yet I'm here to support Katniss, and give her the one symbol of good luck I can offer. It feels wrong choosing between them, but then again, isn't that just one of so many terrible things about the Hunger Games? It's not enough that we have to watch our friends and neighbors die, but we have to pick a favorite to root for.

As my thoughts are overtaken by the sickening nature of the Games, both doors open, and two Peacekeepers emerge from each room. The Everdeens disappear into Katniss's room, the Mellarks into Peeta's. I'm left alone in the hallway with the Peacekeepers guarding the doors, but only for a moment. A few boys from school, friends of Peeta's, find their way across from me to wait, and to my dismay, I can see Gale Hawthorne turning a corner and heading slowly in my direction.

My heart starts pounding and I lock my eyes on the door, visually tracing the subtle groove pattern in the wood for several minutes until I'm distracted by the Peacekeepers conferring wordlessly, and opening the doors to usher the families out. As Mrs. Everdeen and Prim exit, it dawns on me that my turn is next. I hesitate though, and despite my efforts to forget that he's standing right next to me, I look up to Gale, to see if he wants to go in before I do. Our eyes lock, but he makes no movement toward the door. I seem to be frozen where I stand, and after a long moment, I decide to just go in. But when I look behind me, I'm surprised to see the baker entering Katniss's room. I glance over at the other Mellarks, and the two brothers look just as confused as I am. Mrs. Mellark is seething.

"She's going to come home," Prim is saying quietly. I see her take Gale's rough hand in her small delicate one, and he nods slowly. "She promised me she'd try to win. I know she can win," she tells Gale, her voice wavering slightly.

He doesn't say anything back, but nods and pulls the girl in close, and she wraps her skinny arms around him. I avert my eyes, knowing that if I watch them any longer, I won't be able to hold tears back, and I don't want Katniss to see me cry.

The Peacekeepers open the door again and I quickly remove the gold mockingjay pin from my dress, and squeeze it in my hand, running my thumb over it like a talisman. It's been mine since my first reaping, and the thought of parting with it saddens me, but not enough to change my mind.

Mr. Mellark rejoins his family, and I take a deep breath and enter the extravagantly decorated room, where Katniss sits on a velvet couch, looking dazed. I sit next to her, remembering that my visit with her is strictly limited, and there's no time to be shy.

"They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home. Will you wear this?" I ask her, holding out the pin for her to see. I won't bother explaining its origin, or just how much it means to me. I'll just have to have enough faith for the both of us in the luck I know it will bring her in the Games.

"Your pin?" she asks, flustered.

"Here, I'll put it on your dress, okay?" It isn't a question. I take a bit of the soft blue material of her dress in my fingers and fix the pin onto it, trying not to sound frantic as I make her promise me that she'll wear it into the arena. I can see she doesn't understand why this is so important to me, but that doesn't matter, as long as she agrees. "Promise?"

"Yes," Katniss says, and I know my time will be up in a moment. I can't bear to have the Peacekeepers barge in and take me away from her, so I decide to leave on my own, but not before giving her a kiss on the cheek. I tell myself the gesture doesn't mean goodbye.

The moment I'm back in the hallway, Gale moves swiftly past me, grazing my shoulder with his arm. I turn, noticing that he's wearing the same worn out, once-black shirt he wore to my house half a year ago. He wore it to the reaping today. I realize that it must be the nicest shirt he owns, and I cringe, remembering how offhand and casual I was that night when I made him exchange it for a more proper one, because his wasn't even good enough to wear to clean up during my parents' party.

And I wonder why he thinks I'm a snob.

He doesn't bother looking back after he brushes by me on his way to Katniss, and before the door closes, I see her rush into his arms. I close my eyes, fighting back the choking feeling in my throat. Still, no tears come, and I'm thankful. If I do cry today, I want it to be for my friend, or my almost-friend anyway, going off to the Capitol, most likely to die. My tears will not be for me, and whatever latent feelings I'm holding onto for a boy I can't have.

I exhale slowly, and open my eyes. The boys from school are on their way out. I'm alone in the hallway with the Peacekeepers again, and before I can bring myself to leave, I make a decision. Without thinking, I march over to Peeta's door. The young Peacekeeper to the left of the door is one I recognize, and I know he knows me. He looks down at his watch, then meaningfully back at me. I nod, silently letting him know that I'll keep it brief.

When I enter, Peeta is standing, and he looks as surprised to see me as I am to be here. His face is stained with tears, his eyes, red and slightly puffy. I can't tell if he's been crying the whole time, or if he started when his friends left, because he thought he was done with visitors. He doesn't say a word, and before I know it, his arms are wrapped tightly around me. I let him hug me, which feels slightly awkward, considering the fact that we barely know each other, and I take in the smell of freshly baked bread that lingers on his clothes.

He lets me go and flashes a small, apologetic smile. I'm not sure what I should say, or what even possessed me to come in here because, if by some miracle, one of District 12's tributes were to actually win, I'd want it to be Katniss. I can't wish him luck, or tell him I hope he comes home, not if I'm being honest. Still, Peeta Mellark is a good person. Probably the only person from town I wish I'd gotten to know better. Now it's too late, so I wipe a tear from his cheek, in the way Nessie might do for me, and tell him the only thing I can think of. "Show them what you're made of."

He nods swiftly. "I will."

There's nothing else to say, so I nod back and open the door, taking one last look at him before I'm escorted out. I'm still not sure why I wanted to say goodbye, but I'm glad I did, because I know this is the last time I'll ever see him.

* * *

><p>The large window in my room is open, the curtain drawn back, but the air still seems stale. With my mother in bed suffering from another headache, which seem to plague her more often this time of year, and my father working late at the Justice Building, I came up here to escape the vastness downstairs, but now I just feel claustrophobic. I perch on the edge of my bed, trying to force myself to breathe deeply, but the air feels thick in my lungs and I'm afraid I might be sick.<p>

I need fresh air.

I fumble my way back downstairs and into the kitchen, which is dark since Nessie's already gone home for the night. I don't bother with the light switch, choosing instead to feel my way around the counters to reach the back door. When I open it, the refreshing night breeze gives me a slight shock, and so does the familiar figure I find facing me, just a few feet from the doorway. A gasp escapes me.

"You scared me," I say needlessly. I'm sure he guessed that from my reaction.

When I recover and take a good look at him, it's hard to believe that this wounded looking boy is the same daunting Gale Hawthorne who spoke so coldly to me only this morning. Unlike me, in my summer nightdress, he's still wearing his reaping clothes, but his shirt is untucked and his hair is mussed. I can't imagine what he's doing here, and he isn't offering any clues.

"How long have you been here?" I ask.

He shrugs. There's a glassy look in his eyes that makes me think of a lost child, and I realize that behind the disheveled appearance and the misery, I'm seeing traces of something I've never seen in him before. Fear.

"Do you want to come in?" I ask cautiously.

He shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck while we stand in silence. When he lets his hand drop back to his side, I can't help noticing that his knuckles are swollen and pink, with traces of blood that's beginning to dry. I feel sorry for whatever was on the receiving end of one of his punches. I want to take his hand in mine, to show him some comfort with a small gesture, any gesture, like I did with Peeta, but I can't bring myself to move.

"I'm sorry, Madge," he says gruffly, after a long time. His voice is thick, and I tell myself it's from the awkwardness of being outside my house so late at night, and it couldn't be that he's been crying. Gale Hawthorne does not cry.

I tilt my head slightly. "What for?" For as long as I've waited for an apology from Gale, this is the last moment I would have picked to expect it.

"This morning," he says. "I was rude to you."

"Oh," I reply, taken aback. "Well, yes, a bit. But that hardly matters now, does it?"

"I guess it doesn't," he agrees. "I was wrong though, about your chances."

"My chances?"

"Of getting picked," he says. "If Prim's name could have been called her first time around, I guess yours could have been too."

I nod slowly. "Right."

Another breeze hits, and the fresh air I longed for a few minutes ago is beginning to make me shiver. I focus my gaze on my bare feet. The silence grows again, until it's almost a tangible object, filling up the space between us.

Finally, I open my mouth, and in a feeble attempt to reassure us both, I say, "She could win. Katniss could win."

I expect him to nod in agreement, like he did when Prim told him the same thing this afternoon, but he surprises me. "No, she can't," he says flatly, looking me straight in the eyes. The fear I thought I saw in him before has been replaced by a look of grim acceptance.

He turns away from the house to leave. I allow my legs to give way, and sit down hard on the bottom step, feeling defeated, and finally, the tears come. I look down to my lap and watch as, one after another, tiny circles of moisture form on my nightdress. The first are for Katniss, for her family, and for Gale, who loves her. One for Peeta Mellark, with the kind eyes and the bakery smell, who I should have become friends with. And while I'm at it, one for Haymitch who, once he's ushered two more kids to their deaths, will pick out a gift for me before he leaves the Capitol. I tell myself that none are for me, lucky enough to be at home, safe from the Games.

When I raise my head again, Gale's still standing there, half turned away but looking back at me curiously, watching me cry. "Goodnight Madge," he says.

I stare after him as he walks away until he finally disappears from my view. Tears keep trickling down my face, and after a while, I forget to keep track of who each one is for.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I posted last night with some typos... Should be fixed now.

* * *

><p><em>6 months before reaping<em>

* * *

><p>Sleep never came last night. As hard as I tried, I couldn't get the adrenaline to run its course and dissipate, and I just couldn't settle down. Every time I laid my head down on my pillow, I felt Gale's strong hand on the back of my neck. Whenever I closed my eyes, my lips started to tingle, feeling swollen, waiting for Gale to lean in and kiss me once more.<p>

The moment the sunlight begins to trickle in through my window, I throw the covers off of me and spring up from the bed. Even in the comfort of my room, the air is cold, so I peel the top blanket from the bed and wrap it around myself, and venture downstairs to make myself some tea.

The main room has already transformed back to its usual state, no more buffet table, no empty wine glasses sitting out, all the furniture back where it belongs. Nessie must have gotten here early.

My suspicions are confirmed when I hear the tea kettle's loud and urgent whistle coming from the kitchen. I shuffle in through the swinging door, and Nessie looks up at me with raised eyebrows.

"Honey, don't you have a housecoat?" she asks me.

I hug the blanket around myself in defense. "It's not very cozy," I reply, smiling as I move past her to retrieve the perforated metal tea ball from the drawer.

She hands me the small tin of tea leaves, eying me suspiciously. "And what do you have to grin about so early in the morning?" she asks. "I know you couldn't have had much fun at the party, since you disappeared before it was over."

I fill the ball with tea and place it in my favorite cup, trying to arrange my face into a less telling expression, while Nessie pours the hot water for me. "Just in a good mood," I say evasively. "It's the first day of a new year, I'm allowed to smile."

"Can't argue with that," she admits.

I exhale, relieved to think she's done questioning me about last night, when she reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out several coins, holding them out to show me. "What are those for?" I ask, taking a sip of tea. It hasn't steeped thoroughly yet, but I'm impatient to feel the warmth in my belly.

"Gale Hawthorne disappeared last night too, before I had a chance to pay him for working," she says casually, and I choke on my tea. "Easy, honey, don't inhale it," she adds.

I cough for several moments, while Nessie stares at me. When I recover, she places the coins on the counter. I look down at the small pile, then back at her amused expression. I can't think of any response to her statement that wouldn't either be an outright lie, or give away more of the truth than I'm willing to admit, so I plaster on my best clueless smile and blink several times.

Unfortunately, she's familiar with this tactic, and isn't buying my innocence. We continue the stand-off for a few moments, until she makes a bold and rather unexpected move. "Well, since you're the one who hired him," she points out, "I think it only makes sense that you should be the one to pay him. After breakfast, why don't you go across town and deliver those to him?"

I get instantly light-headed at the thought of seeing him again, and I can't decide if it's in a good way or not. Of course, I want to see him, but is it too soon? What will I say to him? Will it be awkward to just show up unannounced? And, oh no, will I have to meet his mother? The notion fills me with dread. I am in no way ready for this. "I don't know where he lives," I tell her meekly.

Nessie seems quite pleased with herself as she removes the tea ball from my cup and dunks it into her own. "Oh, it's easy enough to find," she assures me with a smile. "And as long as you're making the trip, you might also bring over a few other things: his shirt that's hanging in the closet upstairs, along with your dress."

"My dress?" I repeat, confused. "Why my dress?"

"No one gets coal dust out of clothes better than Hazelle Hawthorne," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

My mouth hangs open for a moment."Coal dust?" I squeak.

She purses her lips. "Coal dust. As in that black stuff that comes off of coal. I doubt your mother will appreciate seeing it all over your nicest dress, nor will she like your explanation of how it got there, so I suggest you take it over to be cleaned before she has a chance to see it," she says.

My eyes must be the size of saucers. How is it Nessie manages to be aware of absolutely everything that goes on around here? I nod and sip more of my tea, slowly this time. "So, you won't tell my mother then?" I ask hopefully.

She smiles and drinks from her own cup. "Honey, you're sixteen now. And I know you're a good girl. Whatever you do with-" she pauses and gives me a meaningful look, "your _clothes_, is your business."

I grin at her in relief, unsure of just exactly how much she knows, but grateful that she's giving me a pass. I sneak in close to her, and she wraps an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. "Are you this soft on your own kids?" I ask her bravely.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't get cute, honey, or I'll change my mind."

I chuckle, and give her a swift kiss on the cheek, knowing that she's only bluffing. "What's for breakfast?" I ask, happy to change the subject. "Do we have bread?"

"We do," Nessie says, crossing the kitchen to open the breadbox. "Bread, and muffins, and pastries with jam."

"Wow," I say, "where did all that come from?"

"The Mellarks brought quite a haul with them last night," she says, with what sounds like a hint of disapproval in her tone.

I'm not exactly sure how to interpret it, so I just shrug and finish the last of my tea. Thoroughly warmed up, I remove the blanket from around me and ball it up slightly, stowing it under one arm. Nessie glances over, then does a double take, and lets out a surprised laugh before covering her mouth.

"You might want to head back upstairs and clean up before breakfast," she says, and points toward my feet, "unless you want to explain _that_ to your mother."

I look down and gasp when I see my feet and ankles, not quite as black as they were last night, but still incredibly conspicuous. "Right," I say, feeling my cheeks turning red. "I'll take care of that right now."

"Take your time, breakfast won't be for a while," she assures me, still smiling and shaking her head at me as I leave to run back upstairs and draw a bath.

* * *

><p>Sunday breakfast is one of the only times I see my father for more than just a passing moment, so I always try my best to enjoy it, no matter how tedious it may be. My mother is chatting to no one in particular about how lovely the party was, catching us up on just about every conversation she had last night, while my father nods attentively, and I try not to stare at the crumbs escaping Haymitch's mouth as he wolfs down his toast.<p>

Staring down at my own plate, I let my mind wander back to last night, the way Gale smells, the way his eyes wrinkle up slightly when he laughs, the sound of his voice, whispering in the darkness right before he leaned in-

"Madge?" my mother is saying, and I look up at her and blink a few times. "Doesn't that sound like fun?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Hmm?"

"Honestly," she scolds, "have you even heard a word I've said?"

I steal a glance at my father, who's no help. "I'm sorry," I say to my mother. "I guess I'm still a little tired. What sounds like fun?"

"The Mellark boy wants to take you out," she announces happily.

I stare at her blankly for a moment. "For what?" I blurt, forgetting my manners.

Haymitch chuckles gruffly through his food, and my mother frowns. "Well apparently he was quite taken with you last night, and his mother spoke to me, and he'd like to see you again. Doesn't that sound-"

"And you agreed to this?" I cut her off, trying not to sound panicked. I look to my father, who I'm sure will be abhorred at my mother's idea of setting me up on a date with a boy I barely know, and without my permission, but my heart sinks when he simply smiles and nods and takes another bite of his pastry.

"Well, yes, darling," my mother says, looking startled by my less than enthusiastic reaction. "I don't see any reason why not. He seems like a very nice young man."

I bite my lip. A reason why not. I can think of one very tall, dark, and handsome reason, but I don't think it's one my parents will accept. I can't believe this. I haven't even had time to figure out what's happening between Gale and me, and now my mother is playing matchmaker with the baker's awful wife. Does one night and a kiss- well, several kisses actually- make Gale my boyfriend? My knowledge on the subject of dating is pitiful at best. All I know for sure is that the budding feelings I have for Gale are ones I've never experienced before, and he can't be so easily replaced by some burly blonde boy who smells of flour and yeast.

But I can't tell my mother any of this. Her agenda at the party was trying to coax me out of my shell and socialize with the respectable town kids, so how can I tell her that the one person that I have any interest in at all is the scruffy poacher from the Seam who wasn't even on the guest list?

Desperately, I turn again to my father, who's chewing blissfully. "Dad?" I plead.

He swallows and clears his throat. "I think it would be good for you, Madge," he says. "They're a very nice family. It won't hurt to give the boy a chance." He states it as though it's enough to end the discussion completely. I don't have the nerve to challenge him, but I'm sure my face is giving away how upset I am.

"I don't see what the problem is," my mother says, shaking her head. "His mother was nice enough to bring us all this from the bakery." She gestures across the table, then closes her eyes and puts two fingers to her temple. "It's not as if you have any other pressing social engagements tonight."

"Tonight?" I repeat miserably. I swallow back a few angry words, and push my plate away from me, no longer able to enjoy the muffin that was apparently part of the bride price my mother and Mrs. Mellark agreed upon behind my back.

"Yes, tonight. He'll be here at five-thirty," she says, her brows furrowed. "I'm going back upstairs." She gets up from her chair and I feel a stab of guilt that my reaction to her effort has ruined her good mood.

"Mother," I say ruefully, "I'm sorry. I just wish you had asked me what I thought first." _Because I would have had a chance to say no. _

She looks at me for a moment, then nods, not in agreement, but to accept my apology.

"Which Mellark boy is it?" I ask, hoping to redeem myself in her eyes by pretending to show some interest.

She waves her hand in the air. "Oh, I couldn't keep their names straight," she says. "The youngest, I think. He goes to school with you."

"Peeta?" I ask, picturing the friendly boy who sits behind me in math class. Maybe he'll understand if I explain to him that I'm already taken. Or, whatever it is that I am.

"Maybe," she says, closing her eyes again. "I think that's right. I need to go lie down."

She makes her exit and my father gives me a hopeful smile, and gets up to leave the table as well. "She means well. You might even have fun," he says gently, and smooths the back of my hair in what's meant to be a comforting gesture.

Once he's gone, I let out a long and miserable sounding sigh. Haymitch reaches across the table to grab the partially eaten muffin from my plate, looking thoroughly amused by the whole exchange he's just witnessed, and stuffs practically the whole thing in his mouth. I shoot him the fiercest scowl I can muster, and head up to my bedroom.

* * *

><p>I have no idea what to tell Gale about my upcoming date with Peeta Mellark.<p>

The linen bag slung over my shoulder is weighing on me more heavily than it should, and I'm dragging my feet as I approach Gale's neighborhood. I was nervous enough at the idea of coming here before I learned of my mother's plans to hijack my night, and my beginnings of a social life, and now my anxiety has doubled. I chew my lip as I try not to let my imagination run away with me, picturing the all the different possible reactions he could have, anywhere from accusing me of being some kind of harlot who kisses a boy one night and dates a different boy the next, to flying into a jealous rage and beating the stuffing out of the Mellark kid.

I tell myself none of that would ever happen. I'll simply explain to him that I don't have a choice about the date, but this is the only one my mother will force me into. I'll make sure of it. He'll understand.

I'm so distracted by the situation that I almost forget to be self-conscious about wandering through the Seam, until I see a few kids I recognize from school frowning and pointing at me, obviously wondering what the mayor's daughter is doing here. I let out a sigh and walk a little faster until I reach the house with the long clothesline and the small crooked birdhouse in the front yard, just like Nessie described.

The yard isn't actually much of a yard, just patches of grass here and there, dusted by the telltale layer of gray that reminds me what side of the district I'm on. I swallow, trying to get rid of the nervous lump in my throat as I knock on the door.

I almost laugh when an eerily close replica of Gale answers the door. He's a foot shorter and several years younger, with smooth skin on his face instead of the perpetual shadow of stubble that Gale has, but those are the only differences I can spot right away. He looks confused when he sees me, since I am clearly not someone he expected to find at his front door.

"Yes?" he asks, in a voice that's slightly less gruff that his brother's.

I clear my throat. "Is Gale here?" I ask, my voice sounding higher than I expected.

The boy shakes his head. "No, he's out-"

"Rory, who is it?" a woman's voice calls from inside the small house.

He furrows his eyebrows and looks me up and down. "I don't know," he says into the house. "A girl looking for Gale."

The door opens wider, and Mrs. Hawthorne shoos the boy, Rory, back into the house and gives me a pleasant smile. "Gale's not home right now."

"Oh," I say, trying not to let the disappointment show on my face. "Well, that's okay. I wanted to return this to him." I take the bag off of my shoulder and retrieve Gale's shirt, holding it out to her.

She takes it, narrowing her eyes slightly. "All right," she says apprehensively.

My cheeks start to burn and I shake my head. "Oh, no, he just left it at my house last night," I stammer and she raises an eyebrow. "No, uh, I gave him a different one to wear," I try to explain, then stop myself and take a breath. "He worked at a party at my house last night, and I gave him a shirt to work in, and he forgot to pick this one up before he left," I finally get out.

Mrs. Hawthorne's expression softens. "You're Madge, then?" she asks, sounding amused.

"Yes," I say, shocked that Gale's already mentioned me to his mother.

"Your housekeeper is a good friend of mine," she says. "She talks about you all the time."

My shoulders drop slightly. "Nessie, of course," I say, feeling foolish. I reach into the bag again and pull out my soiled dress. "She mentioned that you might be able to salvage this."

She looks at the dress for a moment, then moves back from the door and gestures inside. "Well, let's take a look. Come in for a moment, won't you?"

"Sure," I say, hoping that my awkwardness isn't too obvious. I step inside and immediately wonder how this place can house someone of Gale's hulking stature. The ceiling is fairly low, and there isn't really any separation between the front rooms. To my left is a sitting area, with an ancient television in the corner and a sofa that sags slightly in the middle. The wall to my right is lined with cupboards, and I suppose that side serves as a kitchen, since there's a small dish rack next to the sink, and a square dining table in the center. The whole area is slightly smaller than my bedroom.

"I'm Hazelle," she says warmly, setting Gale's shirt down on a small table next to the sofa. "Rory, Vick, say hello to Madge. She's the mayor's daughter."

Rory, who was engaged in some kind of chasing game with Vick, obviously another younger brother, stops dead in his tracks to assess me again. The smaller boy, who looks a bit more delicate than Gale and Rory, crashes into his brother's side and they both tumble to the floor.

"That's it. Out," Hazelle commands sternly, pointing at the still-open front door. "If you're both done with your chores, then there's no reason you can't go find a better place to play."

Both boys scramble to their feet, and follow their mother's orders. "Nice to meet you," Rory says as he heads out the door, then takes off running after his brother.

Hazelle shakes her head and smiles at me again. "Now, then, let's see that dress."

I hand it over obligingly, and she holds it up to take a look. "Not too bad," she assess. "It's mostly just the bottom edge, and, oh, this bit in the middle here," she says.

I cast my eyes to the floor, hoping desperately that the black smudge on the waist isn't too obviously shaped like her son's hand.

She turns the dress around a few more times, and I notice a small sound from underneath the dining table. Curiously, I bend down to look, and find the tiny, dark haired girl I tried to picture last night and couldn't. In her lap, she's cradling a rag doll that someone obviously made by hand and has seen better days. She stares up at me and I'm reminded of a different kind of doll, the kind with impossibly long eyelashes and hints of pink on the apple of each cheek.

"You must be Posy," I say, giving her a grin and crouching down to her level.

She smiles back at me. "That's right, and this is Pancake," she says proudly, petting the frayed yarn attached to the head of her rag doll.

I stifle a laugh. "Well it's nice to meet you both. I'm Madge."

"I like your dress," she says, pointing up toward her mother, who has finished inspecting the damage and is watching us with interest. "You shouldn't have gotten it all dirty," the little girl scolds.

"You're right," I concede. "I wasn't being very careful."

"You should always be careful," she tells me seriously.

My grin widens, and I nod. "That's good advice. You know, I heard something about you."

"Mm-hmm," she replies.

"I heard you like to play dress up. Is that true?" I ask.

She smiles dreamily. "Oh, yes," she says.

"Well, if you think that my dress is pretty enough for you to try on, I wouldn't mind, you know."

Her eyes fly open at this, and she looks back to the dress hanging over her mother's arm.

"It'll be pretty big on you," I admit, "but maybe you could tie a ribbon around it to keep it up." The minute the words are out of my mouth, it occurs to me that this girl, who covets dresses and finery, is wearing what look to be slightly boyish and worn out clothes, possibly hand-me-downs from her brothers. She might not even have anything as simple as a ribbon.

Before I can find out if my suspicions are true, I take the white ribbon from my own hair, which was mostly for decoration, since I chose to wear it down again today. I tuck a few loose strands behind my ears and hand the ribbon over to Posy. "Here," I say, "This one would work."

She lets me lay it in her tiny hands, looking awe-struck.

"The dress, I'll need back, but you can keep the ribbon," I tell her. "It'll look pretty with your dark hair."

Posy scrambles up from underneath the table and tugs on her mother. "Mama, can I?"

I stand back up and Hazelle looks at me appraisingly. "It's Madge's dress," she says. "If she says it's all right."

I shrug. "She can't do any more damage to it than I already did," I tell her.

At this, Posy grabs the dress from her mother's hands and scurries gleefully into another room.

"Well, you just made her day," Hazelle says with a hint of a smirk.

I smile at this, but then realize I'm alone with Gale's mother. The only distraction from my unease having left the room, I rock back and forth nervously on my feet until I remember the coins in my pocket. "Oh, Gale forgot this too," I say, handing her the money. "Wage, for working last night."

"That's certainly not like him to forget," she comments, studying the coins.

"Well, it was late," I say, tugging at a lock of my hair. "I think he was tired. Long night." I think about asking her where Gale went, or when he might be home, because I still want to let him know about my date before it happens, but I'm scared that it'll lead to a line of questioning I'm definitely ready for. I couldn't tell my own parents about my new development with Gale, so I'm not about to spill a word of it to his mother.

She just nods, and I tell her that I'm not in a rush to have the dress back; she can send it back with Nessie whenever it's ready, and I head out the front door, setting out into the chilly afternoon to find Gale.

* * *

><p>Kicking a pebble through the alley behind the sweetshop as I drag myself back home, I feel slightly defeated. I spent the whole afternoon looking for Gale in all the places I could think of, with no luck. The town square, the area behind our school where kids hang out on weekends sometimes, the meadow in the Seam, close to the fence. I managed to find his younger brothers in the meadow, playing with a group of other Seam kids. Rory seemed to recognize me from earlier, and I asked if he had seen Gale around. He glanced toward the fence, then doubtfully back at me, and told me no. The only two places I didn't search were the woods past the fence and the run-down old warehouse close to the mines where my father says that black market trading goes on. Of course, I realize those are the two places I would have been most likely to find him, but I'm just not brave enough to venture to either one. Facing his mother, even though she turned out to be quite pleasant, was terrifying enough.<p>

The annoying lowering of the sun toward the horizon nags at me to get home and get ready for my date. I sigh dramatically and pick up my pace.

Nessie greets me when I arrive at the back door, and I give her a half-hearted wave before heading up to my bedroom. I pick out an outfit I might wear to school, comfortable and fairly plain, and tie my hair up with a new ribbon. Gale's the only boy for whom I will suffer my hair whipping around in the wind.

Looking for shoes to wear, I laugh when I notice the pair I kicked off and left in the corner upon getting here so late last night, still covered in coal dust, despite the long walk home. Maybe I should have taken those to Hazelle too. I grab a towel from the bathroom and wipe them off, and they look acceptable, if slightly dingy. The Mellark boy probably won't notice.

I glance in the mirror again, satisfied that the lack of effort I put into my appearance will ensure that he doesn't get the wrong idea. It's not that Peeta Mellark isn't worth looking nice for; he's a perfectly decent boy from what I've seen, and not bad looking. I picture his blonde hair, his strong arms, his polite smile. I'm sure other girls would be perfectly happy about being set up with him, but he just isn't my type. Not that I even knew I had a type until last night.

I hear the muffled ring of the doorbell, which irritates me because he's five minutes early. I had planned to be downstairs already, so the sound wouldn't bother my mother, who's been in bed since this morning. Our regular visitors usually knock, or use the back door, but newcomers tend to like the novelty of the doorbell, since ours is one of the only houses I know of in the district that has one.

I hurry downstairs and wave Nessie, who's headed to the door, away. "It's for me, I might as well answer it," I say briskly.

She retreats back to the kitchen, and I take a deep breath before answering the door. When I pull it open, I'm mortified to find that for the second time in two days, the person I expected to show up at my house is not the person in front of me.

The middle Mellark brother- definitely not Peeta- is flashing what I'm sure most people would see as a charming smile. It falters a bit when he sees my face.

Of course, this was the Mellark boy my mother meant, the one she said was so taken with me. I had pretty much blocked out my little encounter with him last night from my memory, choosing to focus on the important details of the evening, such as every single word out of Gale's mouth, and the tiny flecks of dark and light in his eyes. However, now that he's standing in front of me, I remember too well the way Middle Mellark pawed at my hair and made my skin crawl.

I may never forgive my mother for this.

Knowing I still don't have a choice in the matter, I step out onto the front porch and close the door behind me. I scowl at my date, wracking my brain, trying to remember his name. I've seen him at school, and countless times at the bakery. Phyllo? Flour? I can't think of it. "Look Mellark," I say harshly, "you ought to know right now, I only agreed to go out with you for my parents' sake, so just-"

He cuts me off, the smile wiped from his face. "Madge, no, I'm sorry," he says, managing to look almost genuine for the first time. "I know, I was a little bit of a creep last night, but my dad let me have some wine," he explains. "I never had any before, I might have had too much, and everything just got all fuzzy."

I purse my lips, mulling this over. I've certainly had enough experience with Haymitch's drinking to know that it can impair judgment, and make a person act in a way he might not be proud of. Or, I imagine Haymitch might not be proud, if he cared what anyone thought. "Okay," I say skeptically, my eyes still narrowed.

He smiles sheepishly. "I'm really sorry," he says. "I finally got up the nerve to talk to you and I blew it. I was hoping you might give me another chance."

I exhale sharply, and let my face soften just a bit. As hesitant as I am to believe that he might not be such a disgusting person, I don't want it getting back to my mother that I was completely hostile and unreasonable. She might insist that I go out with him again so I can act appropriately. "Apology accepted," I say, in a business-like fashion. "Just don't touch my hair again."

He lets out an awkward chuckle and we step down from the porch. "I promise," he assures me.

We get a few paces away from my house and I realize I've taken the lead, even though he hasn't informed me of our destination. "Where are we going?" I ask, not slowing down.

"Well, a bunch of my friends will be over behind the school later," he says optimistically.

Scrunching my face up, I picture myself awkwardly attempting to socialize with all the town kids I had to work so hard to avoid last night.

He laughs. "Okay, we can skip that," he says. "How about the bakery? It's closed, but we can go get something to eat."

"That will be fine," I say, maintaining the serious look on my face and walking quickly ahead of him. Apology or no, I still want to get this over with as quickly as possible.

The bakery is dark inside. He unlocks the front door and holds it open for me, then turns on only a small lamp instead of the bright overhead lights. "I don't want customers thinking we're open," he explains.

He gestures for me to sit down on the wooden bench next to the shop window, while he shuffles around behind the counter. The bench has no backrest at all; actually, it more closely resembles a long packing crate than a place to sit, so I have to shift around a bit to find a comfortable position. He smiles broadly as he hands me a roll, still warm, with cheese on top. I look at it for a moment, deciding weather or not eating the thing will encourage him too much and let him think I'm easily bribed into a good mood by delicious smelling food, but I _am_ hungry. I rip off a small piece with my thumb and forefinger and pop it in my mouth. His smile gets bigger somehow.

"There's stew upstairs," he says enthusiastically. "I'll be right back."

"Wait," I say before he can dash away. He raises his eyebrows and I sigh, rolling my eyes. "I don't know your name," I admit without sounding apologetic.

He drops his smile and lets his mouth hang for a moment in surprise, then laughs. "It's Flynn," he says before running upstairs.

Huh. I think I prefer Flour.

I lean back against the window, taking a few more bites of the roll and watching people meander by the shops. I keep hoping pointlessly that I'll spot Gale on his way to deliver game to someone's back door, but it's evening now, and he's probably home with his family, sitting down to dinner. I entertain the thought of stopping back over at his house after I'm done here, but quickly dismiss the idea. I wouldn't want to talk to him in that tiny house, in front of his whole family, and Hazelle might think I'm crazy for practically stalking her son.

Flynn returns with two bowls of stew, still steaming, and hands me one. He sits cross-legged on the bench, facing me, with his bowl in front of him. I choose to keep both my feet on the floor.

The stew is hearty and good, but not so delicious that it would rival one of Nessie's meals. I briefly wonder what she's serving tonight, and hope that there's some left over that I can enjoy when I get home.

"Your mother made this?" I ask, trying to fill the quiet space.

He nods. "Much better than what she usually throws together. I think she's hoping to impress you."

"Shouldn't that be your job?" I retort.

He laughs warmly, almost making me smile and forget to keep up my icy demeanor. "You're right," he agrees, "but I'm still working on getting you to be able to stand being in my presence. I think I'm still a few steps away from trying to impress you."

I wince. "Actually, you don't need to bother," I tell him. "You seem not to be as vile as I might have initially thought, but it doesn't really matter, because I'm already seeing someone."

"Oh," he says, sounding slightly surprised, but not exactly discouraged. "So, if you have a boyfriend, why did you agree to come out with someone as vile as me?" he asks, smirking.

"My mother insisted," I sigh. "My parents don't exactly know about him, and I don't think they would approve."

He wrinkles his face up a bit. "Why not? I mean, they obviously don't mind you dating, if they pushed you so hard about me," he points out, dipping a bit of his bread into the stew.

I take another spoonful while he waits for an answer. Once I swallow, I bite my lip thoughtfully for a moment. "My parents would like me to spend time with people of a certain background, such as you and the other kids who were invited to their party last night," I explain carefully. "The boy I'm seeing doesn't exactly share that particular-"

"You're dating a coal miner?" he says in an accusatory tone I don't appreciate.

I jut out my chin. "So what if I am?" I shoot back. "Don't make it sound so scandalous. And anyway, he's not a miner yet. He's only just turned eighteen, so-"

"So he's still in school," he interrupts me again. "And he's in my year? I bet I even know him. What's his name?"

"That is none of your business, Mellark," I huff.

He smirks mischievously. "Come on, Madge, I deserve to know who my competition is. I bet I can guess," he challenges.

"I seriously doubt that."

He takes my bowl, now empty, and stows it in a small sink in the back corner behind the counter, along with his. "It would have to be someone clever enough to keep up in a conversation with you," he starts, sitting down to face me again. I roll my eyes and tuck my legs up underneath me on the bench. "Good looking, but a little rough around the edges."

I furrow my eyebrows, starting to get annoyed now. "Will you stop?" I ask, though it comes out more like a demand. "I simply do not know you well enough to go spilling my personal business-"

"And manners," he adds. "Someone with better manners than I have."

"That's for sure," I grumble. Although, remembering the way Gale poked fun of my height and lack of pottery skills, I almost crack a smile. Almost.

"Let's see, a clever and attractive Seam boy with a sense of propriety," he muses. "That narrows it down considerably. Could be Deerwood, or Sawyer," he suggests, watching me closely for a reaction. I continue to scowl at him. "Maybe Frakes? Hmm, not Hawthorne," he mutters.

I blink once, trying to keep my face impassive, but there's a glint of recognition in his eye, and I can tell I'm caught. "Why not Hawthorne?" I ask, as innocently as possible.

"Gale Hawthorne is _not_ your boyfriend," he says in disbelief.

"No, he's not," I say smoothly, justifying the lie in my head because I still haven't discussed at length with Gale exactly what his title is in relation to me. "But I know him, and I'm curious to know why you deem him un-dateable."

"Well, he's a known criminal, for one," Flynn says matter-of-factly.

"If he is, then so is everyone who trades with him."

He rolls his eyes at my logic. "On top of that, what he does with girls, I wouldn't exactly call dating."

I frown, slightly taken aback. "What would you call it?"

"You sure he's not the guy?" he says, tilting his head. "You seem awfully interested in him."

"He spends a lot of time with my friend Katniss, that's all."

"Who, Ice Queen Everdeen?" he laughs. "I wouldn't worry. I doubt she'd ever let him take her up to the slag heap."

They take several moments to register, but his words hit me like a ton of bricks, so hard that my vision blurs slightly. I blink hard two, three times, trying to recover. "The slag heap?" I choke out.

"It's kind of a Seam thing," he says with a shrug. "Kids go there to make out, or whatever else. Hawthorne's shown his fair share of girls a good time up there. Or, so I hear." He shakes his head. "I always thought it sounded pretty shady."

"Right," I whisper. Suddenly I'm standing, unsure how I brought myself to move, since my legs feel as though they're made of lead.

Flynn is looking at me strangely. "Hey, are you okay?" he asks, sounding concerned. "You don't look so good."

I shake my head. "Yes," I croak. "I mean, no. I'm not really feeling well." It's the truth. The bakery is suddenly so stifling I feel like I might see the return of Mrs. Mellark's stew if I stay here one minute longer.

Standing up, Flynn puts a hand on my shoulder to steady me. "Do you want me to take you home?"

"No, I can make it on my own," I assure him, already reaching for the door. "Thank you for dinner, really. I'll see you at school."

He says something else I don't catch, because I'm making my way across the square as fast as I possibly can without breaking out into a full-on sprint. Never have I craved the safety and solitude of my bedroom more than at this moment.

I fling open the back door, startling Nessie, who's cleaning up from dinner. "Honey, what's wrong?" she asks, sounding alarmed, but I'm already bounding into the dining room.

My father is still at the table enjoying his dessert, a pastry leftover from breakfast, and he looks up at me casually. "Well that didn't take long," he notes.

At this seemingly harmless comment, all the emotions inside me explode in a molten blast of rage, directed at my father. "You can tell Mother that she'd better get used to the idea that I'll end up an old maid, because I am never going on another date for the rest of my life!" I shriek at him.

He shoots a flabbergasted look to Nessie, who's standing behind me, but I don't give either of them a chance to respond. I run up to my room and slam the door, bitterly hoping the sound aggravates my mother, and fling myself face-down onto the bed.

I barely have a minute to wallow in misery before I hear Nessie's knock, her footsteps across the room, and the soft creak when she sits down on the bed with me. "Want to talk about it?" she asks quietly, petting my hair.

I sit up swiftly, my face still twisted in anger. "I should be more upset with you than anyone," I say, my voice shaking.

"And why's that?" she asks patiently.

"Because you're the one who encouraged him," I accuse her.

Nessie tilts her head in confusion. "I encouraged Peeta Mellark?"

"No, it wasn't Peeta, it was Flynn," I explain, shaking my head dismissively. "And that's not who I'm talking about. You encouraged Gale, I know you did."

"Gale?" she says, trying to keep up with my train of thought. "I might have given him a little push in the right direction, yes," she says slowly.

"You made him talk to me, and he made me fall for him," I moan, feeling a few hot tears running down my cheeks. "And now I find out that he's nothing but a... a..." I trail off, not sure that I even know of a word that describes the degree of utter lechery Gale Hawthorne has suddenly achieved in my mind.

Nessie wipes the tears away with her thumb, then pulls me in close, and I rest my head on her chest. "He never even liked me at all," I whisper.

"Now, honey," she says soothingly, "I'd be surprised if that were the case. Is it possible there's just been some kind of misunderstanding?"

I sniffle. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure what's happened since this morning, when you were smiling ear to ear, to bring you to this state you're in now, but did you actually talk to our Mr. Hawthorne about any of this?" she asks.

"Well, no, but I heard that-"

"Talk to him, honey," Nessie says, pushing me back from her chest and looking me in my tear-filled eyes. "That's my advice."

I nod, sniffling some more, and Nessie takes her leave to get back to cleaning up, and probably to let my father know that I don't need to be sedated. I curl up on my bed again, hugging my knees to my chest. I don't want to talk to Gale, not anymore. I'm too embarrassed that I let him lure me up to the place where he's done who knows what with who knows how many other girls. He didn't try to go any further than just kissing last night, but that thought isn't much comfort, considering that it was my first time being kissed by anyone. The first kiss- the one I'm supposed to remember forever. Now, that beautiful, perfect moment is tarnished in my mind.

Then again, maybe Nessie is right. Maybe Flynn Mellark was misinformed, and I'm now mentally condemning Gale when he's actually innocent of any crimes of lewdness. I'm not exactly sure how I'm supposed to go about discovering if the rumor is true, since asking outright if I was just another conquest to now be tossed out like mining waste, doesn't seem like a question that could be worked into polite conversation.

The first step, I suppose, is just talking to him, like Nessie said to. And despite my anger at her for dispensing it to Gale in regards to me, she really does always give the best advice.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, had to deal with real life. Now, to catch up on internet life... Oh, how I've missed you. 

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><p>The day after the reaping drags by uneventfully. In school, nearly everyone has adopted a relieved and almost cheerful attitude, thankful they're safe for another year. Only a few of Peeta's friends seem disheartened as we're forced to re-watch the footage of the reaping in class, in place of our usual history lecture. At lunch though, they act the same as they ever do: talking, arm-punching, even laughing every now and then. I try not to focus on them, but it's better than just staring stupidly at the empty seat across the table from me.<p>

I manage not to cry anymore, arranging my face into a somewhat blank expression, although it doesn't matter much. Even if I let myself look upset, there's no one who would bother asking me what's wrong. Nessie is working shorter hours than usual this week to tend to her sister, so she's only around when I'm at school, and my mother's latest piercing headache has made sure that she hasn't left her bedroom on the third floor in several days.

My father and I meet up in the town square, where he insisted we watch the broadcast of the opening ceremonies together. I'd rather be home, away from the crowd, avoiding watching Katniss dressed up and paraded in whatever parody of a coal miner's outfit the stylists have chosen this year, but my father is right. It's important to show support. He gives me an encouraging smile when our tributes are presented- not in clichéd, overdone costumes, but in dazzling flames- a smile that I'm surprised to find myself returning. When the ceremonies are over, I turn to my father to gush about how magical Katniss looked, and how maybe she'll have impressed some potential sponsors tonight, but before I get the chance, he kisses the top of my head and tells me he has to get back to work. I sigh, and scan the square for a head of dark hair that would be sticking up above the rest of the crowd. He isn't here.

The kids at school buzz about Peeta and Katniss. What they wore, how amazing they looked, and _Was_ _it real fire? How did they not get burned? Why were they holding hands? _It's hard not to roll my eyes, considering how few of these people bothered to learn Katniss's name before, and now she's all anyone can talk about. I remind myself that this is a good thing. If she has buzz here, maybe she has it in the Capitol as well.

Gale hardly shows up for school at all. My awareness of his absence brings me a sense of disquiet, forcing me to realize just how closely I keep track of his schedule. He's in his last year, which means we share no classes, nor do we eat lunch at the same time, but still, it only took a glance first thing in the morning to the corner by the drinking fountain to see that only three, not four, scruffy-looking Seam boys were congregated there.

I try not to wonder too much about where he could be all day, hoping he isn't sick. I'm sure he's probably in the woods, hunting, wishing he still had his partner with him. I remind myself that it's none of my concern. One random nighttime visit and a fairly inadequate apology for his rudeness does not make us friends.

More hot days are followed by warm evenings, not unpleasantly so, but my father takes to fanning himself with his hat anyway as we join the group gathered in the square, waiting to see our tributes be interviewed.

The crowd is bigger tonight than it was yesterday when they announced the training scores, and Katniss managed to earn an eleven. When the number appeared on the screen, there was a moment of shocked silence, then an uproar of applause and chatter, not just from those of us in the square, but from the open windows above the shops, where the merchants' families were watching. My father had pulled me in for a hug and squeezed me so tightly, he almost knocked the wind out of me, but I could understand his excitement. The highest scoring tribute came from his district. No doubt he was proud.

I cover a yawn with my hand, and rest my head on my father's shoulder. I didn't sleep at all the night after the reaping, and I've tossed and turned every night since. Regardless of Katniss's high score, I can't help remembering some of the more brutal ways I've seen kids die in the Games over the years, and worrying for her, even though I know that she's not in the arena yet.

Gale's words haunt me as well. I had only tried to offer some comfort, reminding him that Katniss could win. _No, she can't._ He had said it so absolutely, so finally. As if she has no chance at all of winning. He can't really believe that, can he? He knows her better than anyone. They brave the woods together, hunt, use weapons. He has to know that gives her at least a bit of an advantage. How can he have no hope at all?

Then again, maybe hope is a dangerous thing for someone like Gale Hawthorne, who only sees things in the most certain of terms. To be reaped is a death sentence, pure and simple. To hope for anything different would go against his nature. To have hope would mean leaving himself open, vulnerable to disappointment, and something tells me vulnerability is not a quality Gale would ever choose to adopt. Maybe giving up hope that Katniss will live is his way of protecting himself from utter devastation if she dies. I suppose I can't blame him for that.

The crowd quiets down as the broadcast begins, and I barely make it halfway through the first girl's interview before I start to get antsy. I don't think I can make it through this whole show, watching all the other tributes talk about themselves, giving us a chance to get to know them before they get killed or start killing in the arena tomorrow. Watching the events leading up to the Games has never affected me quite like this before. It feels like I should be doing something to help.

I glace around the square for Gale, which has become second nature for me now, though I know he won't be here. My gaze fixes on the bakery, where Peeta Mellark's family is no doubt upstairs, waiting anxiously to see their son's interview. I narrow my eyes though, and I can make out movement through the shop window. A blonde figure, one of Peeta's brothers, bustling around downstairs. I glance back to the screen, where Caesar Flickerman is laughing with the beautiful District 1 tribute, then I tap my father and whisper that I'll be right back. He nods, but keeps focused on the interview.

Briskly, I make my way across the square to the bakery, where Flynn Mellark is inside sweeping the floor. The bakery's been closed a few hours now, but he's still wearing his white apron and has an ugly yellowish-purple bruise around his eye. When he catches me looking in, I lift a hand in an unenthusiastic wave, and after looking puzzled for a moment, he comes outside and leans on his broom.

"Madge," he says, nodding.

"You're not watching the interviews," I say.

"You either," he replies. His voice sounds hollow, with no trace of the charm or arrogance I know him for. Not that I'm fond of his particular brand of swagger, but it's disconcerting to notice its absence.

I nod. "What happened there?" I ask, gesturing to his face.

He shrugs. "Took an elbow during wrestling practice."

I nod again, as if this should have been obvious. I start to regret trying to speak to him, but something drew me over here. Perhaps it was that hug from Peeta, and the idea that maybe I had actually comforted him just a bit. Unfortunately, my presence seems to be having the opposite effect on his brother. "How's your family doing?"

"My little brother's gone," he says acerbically. "How do you think?"

My lips part in surprise. "I'm sorry, I-"

"No, forget it," he says quickly, the angry and frustrated look still painted on his face. "It's not your fault." He sighs. "Look, I have more cleaning up to do, you should get back before you get caught not watching the broadcast."

I look around, to only see a handful of Peacekeepers around the perimeter of the square, none of whom are paying me any attention. "I don't think they care."

He shrugs. "I'll see you around."

"Wait," I say impulsively, before he has a chance to disappear back inside, another idea forming in my head. "Can I buy some bread?"

"We're closed," he says flatly.

"Of course," I say, feeling stung. It's an odd feeling, being given the sudden cold shoulder by someone whose attention I always spurned. In a way, this despondent version of Flynn Mellark has me almost missing the relentless and usually obnoxious way he used to pursue me. "Sorry," I say again, and turn to leave.

He groans. "Madge, hold on," he says, and holds the bakery door open, waiting.

Mustering a smile, I enter the bakery, and wait quietly while he fetches a loaf of the bread my family always orders. "Two actually," I pipe up before he wraps it.

"I thought your housekeeper always picks up on Wednesdays," he says, trying a bit harder to sound friendly.

"She does," I admit. "This is for the Everdeens."

The moment the words are out, his face turns stony. "Right, the amazing Katniss is your buddy," he says. "I'll put this on your bill."

"Okay," I say slowly. "Thank you."

I'm out the door, curious for the first time about what must be going through Flynn Mellark's head.

With the two loaves under my arm, I duck into the alley behind the old sweetshop and head away from the square. I make my way to the Seam quickly, but slow my pace a bit as I pass by Gale's house, where the light from the television flickers in the front window. I picture him sitting with his family, little Posy on his lap, waiting to see Katniss on the screen. Surely he won't be so bleak and negative about her chances in front of them.

I continue on, hoping I can find where the Everdeens live. Katniss told me once that it was only a few houses away from the Meadow, and sure enough, I spot Prim's famous goat tied up in the yard with a ribbon around its neck.

I knock on the door quietly, and Prim, who oddly resembles me more than she does own her sister, answers the door.

"Hi Madge," Prim greets me, as if I'm expected company and we're old friends.

"Hi Prim," I say back, with just as much familiarity. "Could you use some bread?"

Her eyes widen at the sight of the loaves. "Come in," she says, ushering me inside. "Mother, Katniss's friend Madge is here, and she brought us some bread," she exclaims to the woman standing in the kitchen.

I hand the loaves to her and she manages a grateful smile. "Nice to meet you," I say.

"Thank you for this," she says, looking at me with tired eyes. Now I can see where Prim's features came from. Katniss must take after their father. "Would you like to stay? Prim, get some cheese for the bread."

"Oh, no," I protest, "I ate already, thank you. I should really get back-"

"At least stay and watch with us," Prim says hopefully, and I find myself nodding. I can't say no to that face. She smiles sweetly.

"Eleven's almost finished," a gruff voice says from behind me. "She'll be up soon."

I turn swiftly toward the sitting area. "Oh," I can't help squeaking when I see Gale on the sofa, facing the television. I almost smile at the fact that I've been wondering about where he's been for days, and the moment I manage to push all thoughts of him to the back of my mind, he finally appears. "Hi," I say automatically. He glances my way, nodding once as a greeting.

Prim takes my hand and tugs me around the sofa where she sits next to Gale. I take a seat to Prim's right, and Mrs. Everdeen promptly serves slices of the bread I brought, layered with a creamy white cheese. I wave my hand in protest as she tries again to offer me some. Prim bites into hers immediately, savoring it thoroughly. I watch from the corner of my eye as Gale studies his with hesitation. He looks as though he might refuse it, but seems to change his mind when he catches Prim observing him. His expression softens under her watchful eye, and he even gives her half a smile.

"This is it," Mrs. Everdeen says in a hushed voice, taking a seat in a dining chair behind us.

We all turn our attention to the television as Katniss is introduced, and glides onto the stage magnificently in the most spectacular dress I've ever seen. Prim and I both gasp.

"She's so beautiful," Prim breathes.

She does look beautiful, but what's more shocking is how different she looks than the Katniss I'm used to seeing every day. A quick glance at Gale's frown and furrowed brows tells me he's thinking something close to the same thing.

Her appearance isn't the only part of her that seems unfamiliar. She's smiling, speaking more freely than I've ever heard her speak, and at a few points, even giggling. I know that Haymitch and Effie Trinket will have coached her, but it's as though they've transformed her into a completely different person.

We finally see a glimpse of the real Katniss when she's asked about Prim, about volunteering to take her place at the reaping. Katniss answers proudly that she loves her sister more than anything, and without thinking I find myself taking Prim's hand. She looks up at me, her eyes glistening, then quickly back to the screen.

When Katniss tells Flickerman, and the rest of Panem, that she swore she'd try and win, she looks more deadly than any Career Tribute I've ever seen, sending chills down my spine despite the warmth of the room.

The second Katniss steps down from the stage, Prim jumps up from the sofa and bounds over to her mother. "She was so amazing, wasn't she?" she exclaims. "She was perfect!"

Mrs. Everdeen nods and hugs the excited girl. I glance across the now empty space between us on the sofa at Gale, curious about his reaction, but his face is serious and unreadable.

Prim is still gushing over every detail of Katniss's interview to her mother when Peeta Mellark comes on the screen. I watch with interest as he easily wins over the crowd with his charismatic personality. After a few moments, I feel Gale's eyes on me, and I turn toward him. I raise my eyebrows.

"Friend of yours?" he asks casually.

The implication gets under my skin. "Katniss is my friend," I reply coolly.

He shrugs, but holds my gaze, in what feels like a challenge. I purse my lips. I stupidly thought his apology after the reaping meant that we might be past these heated little exchanges, but as usual, I was wrong. I resent his insinuation that I would support Peeta Mellark over Katniss. Maybe Gale is closer to her than I am, but that doesn't mean he's the only one in her corner. After all, I came here tonight, didn't I?

Though, the animosity Gale clearly feels toward Peeta gets me thinking of my encounter with his brother at the bakery. "How did you hurt your hand?" I ask, gesturing to his knuckles that have recently scabbed over.

"Punched a wall," he answers, running his thumb over them, and not breaking eye contact with me.

Our little staring contest is interrupted, however, by a gasp from Prim, with the Capitol audience on television joining her. Gale and I both look back to the screen to see a very red-faced Peeta, followed by a shot of Katniss with her mouth open in shock.

"What happened?" Gale demands. "What did he say?"

Prim whispers, sounding shocked, "He just said he's in love with Katniss."

My mouth forms an O shape, my eyes glued to the screen.

"_Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady_," Flickerman is saying. "_She didn't know_?"

"_Not until now_," Peeta says.

The cameras keep switching back to Katniss, who's now staring at the floor and blushing.

"Does she even know him?" Mrs. Everdeen asks no one in particular.

I open my mouth, but Gale answers first. "No," he says quietly, his tone harsh. "And he doesn't know her. It's a joke." With a furious look on his face, he gets up from the sofa like he can't escape the situation fast enough.

"Gale," Prim protests, but it's too late. He's already out the door. 

* * *

><p>I leave the Everdeens a short while after Gale's dramatic exit, with sweet, if slightly awkward, embraces from Prim and her mother, thanking me for the bread and the company. I promise to return with more food as soon as I can, hoping that my father won't notice the larger bill from the bakery, at least until I rehearse a perfect apology and innocent look.<p>

On my way home, I decide to follow another impulse and stop by Nessie's house. I haven't visited her since I was eight, when I decided I no longer wanted to live with the pressures of being the mayor's daughter, and the best solution was to run away from home. Her sons had looked at me like I was crazy, this little blonde girl, clinging to their mother and refusing to leave. I realize I'm a bit ridiculous now, sixteen years old and still turning to her when I don't want to be at home.

It's getting late, but the lights are still on, even though the television broadcast is over. I knock softly on her front door, hoping not to disturb her ill sister, or the rest of her family.

After a moment, Nessie's younger son opens the door, greeting me with a sly grin. "Well, well, if it isn't little sister," he says. "Been a while since you showed up on our doorstep." He looks me up and down. "Huh, I thought you'd be taller by now."

"Have you been missing me Bristel?" I ask, ignoring his jab and smiling back. Bristel's a few years older than me, and I very rarely have occasion to see him or his brother, since they both work in the mines, but he always acts very chummy toward me.

"Hey Ma," he calls into the house. "You're favorite kid is here. You can stop pretending to love Boone and me."

I grin, and Nessie appears, shoving Bristel out of the way. "Am I that obvious?" she asks, and gives me a hug, followed immediately by a concerned look. "Is everything okay?"she asks. "Your mother?"

I shake my head vigorously. "No, no, she's fine," I say. "Or, the same, at least."

"Oh, that's a relief," she says, placing a hand on her chest.

"I was watching the interviews with the Everdeens," I explain. "I just thought I'd stop and see you on the way home."

"Well that was awfully sweet of you," she says. "How are they doing?"

I shrug. "Getting by. I think Gale Hawthorne must be helping them." I pause for a moment, then add, "He was there tonight too."

She raises an eyebrow. "Want to talk about it?" she asks, opening the front door wider. I peer in at her sons and her husband, involved in some kind of card game on the dining table, obviously taking advantage of the electricity still being on. Bristel catches my eye and winks.

I smile ruefully and shake my head. "No, that's okay. I really just wanted to say hello. I've missed you this week. How's your sister?"

"Getting by," she answers. "Does your father know you're out at this hour?"

I clap my hand over my mouth. I left my father in the square ages ago, saying I'd be right back. It never even entered my mind that he might be worried about me. Frantically, I tell Nessie that I have to go, and she gives me another hug, promising to see me very soon. She disappears back into the house, but before I have a chance to hurry off to find my father, Bristel pokes his head back out the door.

"Hey princess," he calls. "Hold up."

I turn, trying not to scowl at the nickname.

"Katniss Everdeen," he says. "She's a friend of yours?"

"Yes," I answer without hesitation.

"Well, some folks at the Hob started a collection to sponsor her in the arena. We put in a few coins, but it would sure make a big difference if someone like you were to help out," he says.

Someone like me. I know Bristel means someone rich. He doesn't know that I don't exactly have access to any money. I nod anyway though, mentally vowing to contribute as much as possible to the fund. "I'll see what I can do."

Bristel nods back and waves goodbye before closing the door, and I make my way through the Seam, and back into town.

By the time I reach the Justice Building, I'm beyond exhausted, so when one of the Peacekeepers outside informs me that I'm not allowed to enter the facility this late at night, I don't even bother to argue. I simply ask him if he can relay the message to my father that I'm fine and heading home to bed, and I'll see him in the morning. He agrees begrudgingly, and I finally set off toward home.

Just before reaching the square, I'm slightly alarmed to hear voices. It should be cleared out and quiet at this hour.

"But you can't just be wandering around out here," a young but stern male voice is saying. "Get yourself home."

The second voice is lower, and I can't quite make out any actual words, but I have a strange feeling that I know who it's coming from.

My suspicions are confirmed when I venture around the corner of one of the shops to get a better view. I take a deep breath, knowing I should probably hang back and mind my own business, but instead I march straight up to the young Peacekeeper and Gale Hawthorne.

"Is everything all right?" I ask, trying to sound business-like.

"Move along please, Miss Undersee," the Peacekeeper says, sounding slightly exasperated.

Gale turns, hearing my name, and rolls his eyes. "Oh, fantastic. Here you go, Darius, make yourself useful and escort the mayor's kid home. She probably needs your assistance more than I do."

I glare at Gale, not giving the Peacekeeper, Darius, a chance to respond. "My house is right there, you oaf, I don't need escorting."

To my great surprise, Gale bursts out laughing, causing Darius to let out an impatient huff. "Hawthorne, you're killing me here," he says. "It's late, you're going to start waking people up, and I'll have to drag you out of here. Save us both the trouble and go home, okay?"

Gale's still chuckling, which is strange under any circumstances, but after he stormed off so angrily earlier tonight, it's especially disturbing. "What's wrong with you?" I ask him, puzzled.

He smiles devilishly at me for a long moment, then addresses Darius. "If the choice is mine, I will prefer to be dragged," he says matter-of-factly, then proceeds to sit down on the ground, offering his wrists up. "Go on, then," he challenges. "Get me out of here. Keep the peace, Peacekeeper. Earn that Capitol paycheck," he finishes, laughing again.

My eyes go wide at his flagrantly defiant statement. Alarmed, I look up to Darius, who seems even more annoyed, but surprisingly not enraged. Still, I can't simply stand here and let Gale run his mouth, getting him into more trouble, so I crouch down and take his chin firmly in my hand, forcing him to look at me. This close, I realize that the smile he's wearing is all too familiar to me, only not on his face. It's a smile I'm used to seeing on Haymitch.

"You're drunk," I say, as if it's something he doesn't already know.

"You're clever," he retorts.

I narrow my eyes. "Very funny, Gale," I say. "Now stop acting like a child, stand up, and shut your mouth," I order.

He raises his eyebrows, looking shocked and amused by my forceful tone, but actually complies. As he struggles to get to his feet, I turn back to Darius. "He's had a rough night," I say apologetically. "I'll make sure he gets home. Can we just forget this ever happened?" I ask him, wishing I had a coin or two to slip into his hand, like my father might in this situation. If this Peacekeeper chooses to hold a grudge against Gale for his actions and potentially treasonous words tonight, there could be dangerous repercussions for his family, and also the Everdeens, who all depend on him. I have no money though, so the only thing I can think to do is bat my eyes a few times and flash half a smile. "Please?" I add, biting my lip. It might be over the top, but charm is not a weapon I need to pull from my arsenal often. I'm not exactly an expert.

Fortunately, Darius smiles back. "Okay, just keep him quiet and get him out of here."

"Thank you," I say, relieved. This time, my smile is genuine. It fades though, when I turn back to Gale, who's scowling fiercely at me. I just roll my eyes. "Come on," I say, and hook my arm through his, leading him away as quickly as I can.

"What was that?" he asks as soon as we're out of earshot.

"That was me doing you a favor," I shoot back. "You're welcome, by the way."

"And what makes you think I need-" he stops short. "Wait, where are you taking me?"

I have to pull on him to get him to keep walking. "To my house," I tell him.

"Nope," he says, yanking his arm free and turning around.

"Well I'm not taking you home," I say. He keeps walking away from me. "You want your mother to see you like this?" I almost shout.

He stops in his tracks. I wait for several seconds while he presumably plays out that scenario in his head. Apparently it doesn't go well, because he turns back and starts walking toward my house again.

He stays silent the rest of the short walk, but I don't miss the look of discomfort on his face at the sight of my house. We enter through the front door because it's closer to the staircase, and there's less chance of running into either of my parents on the unlikely chance that either of them would be downstairs at this hour. Once we're in the foyer, Gale starts to laugh quietly.

I turn around to shush him, and he leans down alarmingly close to me to whisper in my ear. "Last time I was in this house, we were sneaking out instead of in," he says with a smirk.

My mouth drops open. This is the closest he's come to mentioning our little encounter on New Year's Eve to me since it happened, and the shock of it freezes me for a moment. I recover though, and grab his wrist roughly to continue leading him through the house. I remind myself that he's drunk. He mouthed off to a Peacekeeper. He'd say anything right now.

When we get upstairs, he tries to walk into the guest bedroom that's next to mine, but I keep hold of his wrist. He looks at me curiously, and I shake my head, leading him into my room instead.

"Nessie will notice if someone's slept in that room," I explain once the door is closed. "You can sleep on my floor." Having to confess to Nessie who stayed over tonight and why is not a conversation I want to have. She may love me and go easy on me most of the time, but I have a feeling this would be over the line. Even if she didn't tell my parents, she might feel obligated to tell Hazelle.

Gale doesn't respond, but sits on the end of my bed, slouching a bit, placing his hands on his knees and looking at the floor.

I stand in front of him, tilting my head to get a better look. "How much did you drink?" I ask, trying to figure out in my head just how drunk he could have gotten between the time he left the Everdeens and when I stumbled upon him in the square.

He shrugs and exhales loudly. "A lot."

"Do you need to be sick? Sometimes it helps," I suggest.

Sitting up a little straighter, he looks at me and smiles. "You're a practiced drinker then?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I say. "I've just witnessed a lot, with Haymitch."

"Right," Gale says. "Well, no, I'm not going to be sick. I just need the room to stop spinning," he says, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair.

"Do you need some water?" I ask.

He raises an eyebrow. "Why are you being nice to me?"

I pause, crossing my arms over my chest. "I told you, Katniss is my friend," I say, a bit too defensively. "I doubt she'd want you disappointing your mother or getting yourself arrested just because the baker's son said he had crush on her on television."

His mood shifts immediately, and the anger that flashes in his eyes makes me cower a bit, but I think I can see hurt there as well as he shakes his head. "It's not about that," he says, resting his forehead on his hand, "not really. It's the whole show, the spectacle. As if it's not bad enough that I'll have to watch her die soon, first they have to strip away everything she is and parade her around for the whole country to see and talk about and decide what she's worth. Like they know her." He pauses, looking like he's trying to sort out his thoughts through the effects of the alcohol. "Like they have any idea who she is, or how much..." He trails off and buries his face in his hands for a moment, and I'm terrified that he might be crying. I just stand there pointlessly, afraid to move or even blink, until he looks up again, eyes dry, and chuckles softly. "Do you know what happened when I went home tonight from watching those damn interviews?" he asks. "I walked into my house and my whole family was quiet, like they were too scared to mention anything about it. And that would have been just fine, except that my little sister is never scared of me when I'm in a bad mood, and she took my hand and told me 'Gale, it's okay. Katniss will still want to marry you someday. You're better than that boy who likes her.'" He shakes his head. "She's too little. She doesn't get it. She doesn't understand what the whole show is about, and it that doesn't matter whether or not the baker's stupid son likes Katniss, because Katniss might not ever come home. And I can't bring myself to tell my sister that." His stony eyes look almost sober now, but incredibly tired. The only clue I have to his inebriation is the fact that he's still talking. He shrugs. "Except eventually, I'll have to. She'll have to know. Katniss might die there. And next year it could be Rory who gets reaped, then Vick in a few years, and eventually-"

I can't bear to hear any more. "Gale, stop," I say. "You can't think like that. It doesn't do any good. You're letting yourself get caught up in every bad thing that could happen, and not leaving any room in your mind for the possibility that it could be okay. There's a chance Katniss could win, and don't tell me again that there isn't," I say sternly, before he has a chance to counter. "You're so angry that no one out there knows who she really is, but if you've already counted her out, then maybe you don't know her either."

He looks like he wants to argue, but stays quiet, wearing the expression he always does when something I've said catches him off guard.

"Maybe she and I were never as close as you two are, but I know she's a fighter," I say, and smile wistfully. "She's just like you. She won't give up easily. You shouldn't either."

He's silent for a long moment, then nods, brows still furrowed in thought.

At this point, I'm about to start nodding off every time I blink for too long, and I know I need to sleep. I leave Gale to his thoughts, find a fresh nightdress in the closet, and head down the hall to the bathroom. Once I'm in front of the mirror, I lean on the sink and stare at myself for almost a full minute, sorting out in my head all the confusing turns this night has taken. A month ago, a week ago even, Gale Hawthorne's presence in my bedroom was something I barely even dared to fantasize about. The reality of it should have my heart racing. Under the circumstances however, the only thing my body is feeling is exhaustion, which shows in my reflection. There are circles under my eyes from the lack of sleep this week; my hair is a mess from not bothering to smooth it after wandering all over town. I take the ribbon out of it to let it down, ruffling through it a few times, then brush my teeth and undress.

As an afterthought, I fill a clean glass with water and retrieve a few pills from a bottle in the cabinet. They're nothing as strong as what my mother uses for her headaches, but Gale might have use for them in the morning.

Back in my bedroom, Gale has passed out cold on top of the bed. I want to be angry that he didn't move to the floor, but he looks rather endearing and almost comical sprawled out the way he is, and I just can't manage it.

I close the door gently, set down the water and pills on the night table next to him, and find an extra blanket in the top of my closet to spread over him. As long as I'm playing caretaker, I go ahead and start unlacing his boots as well. He stirs a bit when I take them off, and again when I move one of his long arms closer to his body so I'll have room to climb in under the covers, but he doesn't wake.

I'm only awake for a few moments once my head hits the pillow, just enough time to see that asleep, the lines of worry disappear from Gale's face, making him appear to be just a handsome, carefree boy. There's a dull ache in my chest as I drift off to sleep, because I know that isn't who he gets to be.

For the first time in days, I actually sleep through the night, and wake up as the sun is just starting to make an appearance. I blink a few times to clear my blurry vision.

Gale is gone. Frantically, I sit up and scan the room, not looking for him, but for signs that he was even here at all. Proof it wasn't a dream. The side of the bed he slept on is smooth, but I notice that the pills I set out are gone and the glass of water on the night table is empty. The extra blanket is folded neatly, sitting in the chair by the window.

Relieved, I sink back down into the warmth of my bed. I know too well that last night probably didn't change anything between Gale and me. I have no expectations of friendship or that he'll even acknowledge my existence the next time we see each other. But I can't help feeling satisfied that for once, someone needed me and I could help him. I wasn't useless. It's a feeling I want to hold onto, because I know I'll feel helpless again soon enough. The Games are starting today.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks so much to the Muttations blog who made this story their Fanfic Pick of the week! Also a very special thank you (again) to **Miss Scarlett 05** for recommending it and for writing the very flattering review... If you haven't checked it out yet, go do that, and listen to the Muttations Podcast!

Hope you enjoy this chapter, since I'll be on vacation for a week starting tomorrow and unable to write... Well, not exactly unable, but I'm probably not going to sit around Disneyland writing fanfic :)

Also, my beta didn't have time to check this chapter, so I apologize for any typos, but I really wanted to get this uploaded before I left. 

* * *

><p><em>6 months before reaping<em>

The morning after my sham of a date with Flynn Mellark, I wake up to find that winter has arrived overnight. I can see from my window that a blanket of snow covers the square, and all the merchants are already beginning to shovel the entryways of their shops.

After trudging to school in my boots and heavy coat, I look around before heading to my first class until I spot Gale in a corner of the hallway with a small crowd of boys. Of course, I'm too intimidated to approach him in front of his friends, all from the Seam and older than me, but I try to catch his eye a few times from across the hall. He doesn't glance my way.

At lunchtime, Katniss sits down across from me, as always, and suddenly my heart starts racing. Would Gale have mentioned anything to her about our little tryst? She always maintains that they are nothing more than friends, but what if she's secretly harboring feelings for him, and now she hates me for swooping in? Or, if they are strictly platonic, will she judge me harshly for being so easily charmed by a boy I hardly know? Fortunately, she seems to be acting the same way she always does at lunch, so I have to guess that he didn't tell her.

However, this makes me worry as well. She's his best friend. If he didn't tell her about me, should I assume that I simply wasn't worth mentioning? Is this further proof that I'm just the latest in Gale's long line of slag heap victories?

I tell myself not to jump to conclusions. Maybe Gale knows that romance just isn't a subject Katniss is interested in. She's certainly never brought it up around me.

"It's amazing how fast the weather changed," I say, trying to distract myself from negative thoughts.

Katniss simply nods and bites off a piece of the dried meat she brought for lunch.

"Gale did a great job at my parents' party," I mention, remembering that the last time I spoke to her was the morning before the party, which seems like ages ago after all that's happened to me since then.

"I'm glad," she replies.

I pick at my chicken sandwich with my fingers. "It's a shame you couldn't make it," I add.

Katniss shrugs. "His brothers need new winter clothes. Figured I'd let him make the money," she explains.

"Right," I say, remembering the smaller Gale look-alikes running around yesterday in the Meadow with only thin jackets and pant legs that ended slightly too high on their ankles. Not to mention pretty little Posy in her drab clothes. I sigh, thinking of how her face lit up at the idea of a dress and a ribbon.

We're quiet through the rest of lunch, and part ways wordlessly with a courteous exchange of head-nods when it's time for class.

Settling down in my seat, I take out my book to prepare for another mind-numbing lesson, when I notice Peeta Mellark lingering next to me. I look up and raise my eyebrows.

"Hey Madge," he says, clearing his throat.

I smile back politely, and he sits down behind me. "Fun party over the weekend," he says.

Surprised that he's still addressing me, I turn around. "It was okay," I say.

One of Peeta's friends throws a balled up paper at him, distracting him from our very limited conversation, and I turn my attention back to my math book, diligently coloring in all the zeros on the page with my pencil.

"I heard that Arion Wick drank a whole bottle of wine and threw up in the hedges outside your house," Peeta says, with a good-natured laugh.

I turn around again, looking slightly appalled. "My parents thought it was such a great idea to invite teenagers to the party, and it turns out they all just got drunk and made fools of themselves," I say, shaking my head.

He laughs again. "Well, I didn't drink," he says. "Did you?"

"No, of course not, but your brother most certainly did," I tell him.

Our teacher finally enters and tells everyone to settle down and open their books. I turn to face the front of the classroom again and resume my doodling.

"Well," Peeta whispers, leaning forward on his desk, "acting a fool always does seem to work out for him."

Unsure what he means, I turn around wearing a puzzled look.

"Eyes front please, everyone," the teacher says sternly, writing the numbers of the pages we're to finish on the chalkboard.

I slump down slightly in my chair and keep my eyes on my book, scribbling away at the assignment of busy-work for the rest of the period. When class is over, Peeta smiles at me before hurrying off to our next class with his friends.

I watch the clock for the rest of the afternoon, the minute hand appearing to move at a much slower pace than usual, until finally, three-thirty arrives. Out in the hallway, I check the corner by the drinking fountain for Gale, and I see a few dark haired boys that resemble him slightly, but he's not among them. Remembering his brothers, I venture over to the other side of the school, where the younger kids are being released from class. I spot Katniss, who's greeting her younger sister, and I duck out of sight. I'm not exactly sure that I need to hide, but it's well known that I'm an only child, and since I have no siblings to locate, I don't want to have to explain what I'm doing over here.

Eventually, I pick out Rory and Vick in the sea of children passing by me. Rory meets my eye for a moment, but makes no gesture letting me know he remembers who I am. They seem to be escorting themselves outside, so I make my way to the double doors that lead behind the school.

Still no luck. I come to the conclusion that I would make a terrible hunter, at least when my targeted prey happens to be Gale Hawthorne. I'm about to give up and just head home, when I feel a heavy arm draping itself over my shoulders. When I look up, my stomach sinks, and I'm greeted by Flynn Mellark's sly grin.

"Feeling better today?" he asks.

I shrug the arm off. "It comes and goes," I say coldly.

"Well, hopefully it wasn't my mother's cooking," he laughs. "You'll break her heart."

I try to imagine the unpleasant Mrs. Mellark looking genuinely heartbroken, instead of just calculating and bitter. "No, the food was fine," I say.

"Great," he says brightly. "So you should come over for dinner tonight then, since you rushed out so fast last night."

I stare at him blankly. "Uh, thanks, but I thought I made it pretty clear-"

He waves a hand in the air. "Right, right, your coal miner boyfriend," he says dismissively. "I've decided, I'm okay with that. There's no reason you can't spend time with me, even if you're still seeing him."

"Oh really?" I ask suspiciously, my eyes widening.

"Yeah, it doesn't bother me," he answers smugly.

"And why's that?" I can't help asking.

Leaning in closer to me, he grins, showing off a dimple in his left cheek. I ruminate over how odd it is that a face can be so handsome, yet so off-putting at the same time. "I just know it won't take long for you to choose me over him."

I resist the urge to kick him with my boot and shove handfuls of snow down his throat. Instead, I smile as sweetly as I can at him. "Why is it you insist on making it so difficult for me to be polite about rejecting you?" I ask.

He lets out a hearty laugh. "Polite Madge is boring," he declares. "Until the other night, I only thought you were pretty. Now I know you've got some spunk behind that quiet little exterior, I can't help but egg you on until it comes out," he says proudly.

My phony smile fades slightly. "You don't know anything about me," I say, and push past him to trudge home. He follows. "Ugh," I huff, "I thought you were trying to convince me that you're _not_ a creep."

He laughs, unabashed. "I'm not a creep, you're just cute when you're irritated," he says, and I roll my eyes.

He jogs ahead, then turns to face me, blocking my path. He's still smiling, but his expression is more serious than before. "Okay, okay, no more teasing, I swear," he says. "Look, maybe you're having fun with your secret coal miner boyfriend for now, and I get that, believe me. But sneaking around, lying to your parents, it gets old after a while," he says, shrugging. "You and I wouldn't have to do that. We're better suited for one another." He takes my icy hand and squeezes it, then lets go before I have a chance to protest. "Just think about it, okay?"

I open my mouth to deny him again with some rude comment, but this time his smile actually appears genuine, his eyes looking hopeful instead of devious. I still don't trust him, but I can't bring myself to spit out an insult.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, and jogs off to join his friends.

When I catch myself staring after him feeling bewildered for a few seconds longer than I should, I abruptly start marching toward home, wishing I could go back in time a few days, when my head wasn't filled with conflicting thoughts about good-looking boys. 

* * *

><p>Gale eludes me all week. Each time I manage to catch a glimpse of him from a distance, looking everywhere but my direction, I find myself wondering more and more if the night we kissed was real. If we even spoke. If the charming boy he was that night, who laughed freely and made me feel more special than I ever have, was just a figment of my imagination.<p>

I keep the pair of shoes I wore that night, still dingy from coal dust, sitting just inside my bedroom door as a reminder.

I had tried to follow Nessie's advice and talk to him, but he's proved impossible to pin down, and the fact that he hasn't sought me out just makes it more obvious. He never had any intention of continuing what we started. I was a temporary distraction, a bit of fun one night, nothing more.

It makes me sad, of course, and humiliated to realize that he doesn't want me after all. More than anything though, it infuriates me. It makes me want to confront him, even more than I did before, when I still thought there was a chance I'd been misinformed about his reputation. My anger motivates me so much, I decide to seek him out to tell him off in a place where I know I can find him, but didn't have the courage to look before. I just have to make it until the weekend before I can venture there.

Trying to stay awake as the numbers swim around on the pages of my math book, I hear a quiet yet abrupt hissing sound behind me.

"Ssst," the sound persists. "Ssst, Madge!"

The whisper of my name brings me back from my math-induced daze, and I turn around. Peeta Mellark smiles and pushes a small scrap of paper toward me, darts his eyes to the teacher, then back to his work. I turn back around and unfold the paper to read his message. _Coming out tonight?_

Tonight? I'm vaguely aware that kids from school get together and do things on Friday nights, but I've certainly never attended, and I have no idea what these get-togethers might actually entail. I write a question mark under Peeta's words and pass the note back to him discreetly.

A few moments later, he taps my shoulder lightly, and I take the note without looking behind me. _Bonfire. F said he'd bring u._

I purse my lips in anger, trying not to growl and break the silence of the classroom. F for Flynn. I turn around and Peeta raises his eyebrows, but frowns when I shake my head resolutely.

When class is dismissed, he stops me before I leave. "Why aren't you coming?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. "No offense to you, but your brother is an arrogant jerk," I explain haughtily. "Assuming I'd say yes before he even asked me? Ugh, the nerve, like he's Finnick Odair or something."

Peeta nods, but looks confused. "Oh, I thought you two were..." he trails off awkwardly.

My eyes go wide. "What? No, no, absolutely not." I snatch up my book and furiously shove it into my bag. This is Flynn's version of letting me think it over? I should have stuck to my first impression of him instead of trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Did he tell you that we're together?" I demand shrilly.

He shrugs, looking torn. "He might have thrown the word 'practically' in there somewhere," he offers.

I huff angrily. Peeta picks up my book bag before I can, and throws it over his shoulder along with his own. "Come on, let's get to History," he says, and leads the way through the hall. "My brother's not so bad you know, he's just not used to girls turning him down," he says, smirking.

"Well then he should find someone else to stalk," I grumble, and Peeta laughs. He hands me my bag when we get to class, and I take my seat.

"You should still come out tonight," he persists. "Flynn's harmless, he just likes you. Anyway, there'll be a bunch of us there."

I try not to wrinkle my nose at the idea of crowding around a small fire for warmth in the freezing air behind the school with a group of people I hardly know, including the maddening Flynn Mellark, knowing the whole time that I could be at curled up at home with a book and a cup of tea. "I don't think so," I tell Peeta. "I won't really know anyone."

He raises his eyebrows hopefully. "Well, you could always bring a friend," he says enthusiastically, his eyes moving to the empty seat next to me.

"Thanks, Peeta, really," I say, "but I think I'm going to stay home. I don't want to encourage your brother."

He looks slightly crestfallen, but manages a smile anyway. "Maybe next time," he says, and finds his seat in the back of the room with his friends.

"What was that about?" Katniss asks casually as she sits down next to me.

I briefly entertain the thought of filling her in on my recent dilemma involving the baker's sons, leaving out the parts about Gale, of course, but I hold back. She and I have never really shared like that before, and even though it would be nice to vent about it, it might be awkward. As far as I know, she's never dated anyone either, but unlike me, she just seems... above it somehow. Or, at least, above gabbing about it with me before class like the other girls our age might do. "Oh, nothing," I say, rolling my eyes. "Just the aftermath of my parents' party. Next year, I'm hiding upstairs the whole time."

She gives me half a smile, a rare occurrence for her. I'm tempted to try and keep the conversation going, but our teacher walks in and starts in on today's history lesson, and I spend the hour struggling to keep my eyes open.

When school is over, I walk straight home, taking care to avoid the Mellark brothers and more possible invitations to tonight's awful-sounding gathering. At home, I'm happy to see that my mother is downstairs in the main room reading one of her old novels, with a bit more color in her face than she's had all week.

"Feeling better?" I ask, sitting on the arm of her chair.

She smiles at me and pats my arm. "A bit, yes," she says. "How was school?"

"Great," I say brightly, like I always do when she asks. I've been trying hard not to let her hear me complain, especially about the disastrous results of the date she forced me to go on. I was angry at her for a while, but I know deep down she only wants me to be happy. Maybe if I convince her that I'm happy enough without her help, she won't try to contribute to my social life anymore.

"Any plans for the weekend?" she asks.

I force a smile. "Yes, actually," I say. "I'm going out tomorrow afternoon."

"That's wonderful," she says, smiling warmly at me.

Thankfully, she doesn't ask for details, just looks back down to her book. I take the opportunity to move from her chair to the piano to play a bit for the first time all week. I'm never allowed to play while my mother is suffering from a headache, and I always miss it, since it's the only hobby at which I've ever actually demonstrated any skill.

"That song sounds so sad, darling," my mother comments.

I stop for a moment, trying to think of a happier tune to play, but for some reason, I find that a song is harder to fake than a smile. I continue what I was playing before and, through my mother's sighs, the sadness of the melody actually comforts me. 

* * *

><p>Saturday morning I wake up early, but stay in bed as long as I can stand it, trying to work up the courage I'll need for the day's task.<p>

_I will confront Gale Hawthorne today._

With closed eyes and clenched teeth, I repeat the phrase over and over in my mind, willing myself to get out of bed. When I finally manage to get up, I look out the window to see that the snow is falling heavily today. The trek across town will be a bit more treacherous than I would prefer. Part of me wants to scrap the whole idea and stay home where it's warm and there's no danger of frostbite or further emotional turmoil.

_No,_ I tell myself. _I will confront Gale Hawthorne today. A little snow will not stop me from finding him and saying what I need to say to him. I am not a girl to be toyed with and used and simply thrown away. I am worth more than that._

I stay in my room, not hungry for breakfast, and tidy up a bit to pass the time. I read a book I've already read a hundred times, organize my hair ribbons by color, finish the scarf I've been knitting, choosing to ignore all the flaws and lumpy knots I've created. Glancing to the window, I watch the weather get progressively worse as the morning passes by. When afternoon arrives, the view has gone from gloomy to downright menacing.

Finally, I take a deep breath and get dressed in layers, dreading stepping outside to be assaulted by the wind I can see swirling the snow around. Trying not to let the weather shake my resolve, I head downstairs, reminding myself how much better I'll feel once I tell Gale where he can shove his fake charm and his kisses.

Nessie greets me in the kitchen, and says something that I don't catch because my head is filled with all the clever insults I have planned for later. "What?" I ask her, trying to bring myself back to the present.

"Always in your head lately," she scoffs. "I asked if you were planning on going out in that mess."

"Oh, yes," I tell her. "Are my gloves in the hall closet?"

"They are, but I wouldn't do that if I were you," she says, pouring some tea in a cup and handing it over to me. "That storm's going to get worse before it gets better."

I wrap my fingers around the cup to warm them. "This can't wait. There's something I need to do across town."

"Ah," she says knowingly. "So you've been shut up in your room all day and suddenly you have a pressing matter that requires you to venture out into the snow, which you despise? You do realize that _certain_ _people_ most likely won't be at home at the moment."

"Oh, I know," I say, sighing. Might as well tell her the truth, seeing as she figures everything out anyway. "That's why I'm going to the Hob."

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Is that so? Well, I didn't know you were so worldly these days."

"I get around," I say mysteriously and she bursts out laughing. A chuckle escapes me as well.

The truth is, I didn't even know what District 12's black market was called until I subtly fished the information out of Katniss, along with a vague idea of when she and Gale head there after they finish hunting on the weekends.

The way I've heard people in town talk about large gatherings of people that might go on in the Seam, I ought to have a bit of anxiety about going there, especially alone. However, Katniss made it sound like she does business there quite often, so I figure that if she can do it, so can I. I'm aware that Katniss is much braver than I am, but I think it's only because she's always needed to be. If I were charged with the task of feeding my family all on my own, I'd like to think I'd have the fortitude to do whatever it takes.

Speculations aside, I am nervous, and not just about braving the Hob. As much as I need to deal with the Gale situation and obtain some closure, I'm dreading it. The last time I saw him up close, he was kissing me goodnight at my back door, after insisting on walking me all the way there from the Seam, even though he knew he'd just have to turn right around and go all the way back home. At the time I'd thought it was sweet and chivalrous. Now I don't know what to think about it.

I falter a bit when I think of kissing him. I take a deep breath and let it out, expelling those types of thoughts from my mind. _I will confront Gale Hawthorne today._

"Well," Nessie says as she hands me a piece of toast, "your boots are in the hall closet too, along with your good jacket. Make sure to keep the hood up. Folks at the Hob, they aren't used to seeing pretty young blonde girls wandering around in there. Someone might try to hustle you out of money," she warns.

I take one bite of the toast, but my stomach is too tense to eat any more, so I hand it back to her. "I don't have any money, so that won't be a problem," I reply seriously, then look up to catch her smiling. "You're kidding, aren't you?"

She nods and I let out a huff, then her face turns serious again. "Whatever it is you're going there to do, I hope it's worth going out in this weather."

Smiling, I give her a quick peck on the cheek. "Don't worry so much," I say.

"Madge, honey," she says as I'm heading back into the dining room. "Just promise you'll be careful."

"I'll be fine," I call on my way out.

It's hard to tell what she's more worried about: the dangers of the Hob, the chance of a blizzard, or my emotional well-being.

Once I'm decked out in my warmest gear, I head out the front door into the frozen afternoon. There are a few people in the square, but they're all rushing quickly to their destinations. No one stops to chat, or to peer in any shop windows. Snowflakes stinging my cheeks, I wonder for a moment if Gale and Katniss even bothered to go out hunting today, but quickly banish the thought before it has a chance to grow into an excuse to go back home.

I press on, my boots crunching their way slowly across town. It's hard to tell when I've reached the Seam, since the snow on the ground is thick enough to mask the usual layer of gray. Everything looks white and pristine today. The only gray now is the sky, with coal-colored clouds hanging ominously above me.

When I spot the unassuming old warehouse from a distance, my nerves begin to act up, and I repeat my mantra a few times with closed eyes. A minute later, I open them again and squint when I see someone I think I recognize heading toward the building. When I watch him trip over his feet, I'm sure I know who it is.

"Haymitch!" I call, and he turns in my direction, brushing himself off. I hurry toward him, my anxiety pushed to the back of my mind, and I hear him curse. Despite his boorishness, I can't help but feel relieved to see someone I know.

"Just what do you think you're doing over here?" he demands, brushing himself off.

"I'm looking for someone," I answer hastily. "What about you?"

He scowls at me. "Emergency," he replies. "My house is dry."

"Oh," I say after an awkward pause.

He stares expectantly at me, then rolls his eyes and opens the heavy looking door of the dilapidated building. "Ladies first," he says, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

It's only now, as the door is opened and I get my first glimpse of the makeshift market stalls and the throngs of Seam residents, most of whom I've never even seen in the square before, that I start to actually get scared. Many in the crowd are old, weathered, and missing teeth or limbs. I cringe and hang back for a moment, trying to swallow my fear, and Haymitch clears his throat loudly.

"Any day now, little one," he barks.

I take a wary step inside and immediately Haymitch pushes past me and rushes away to one of the vendors. So much for thinking my "uncle" might act as an impromptu escort through this unfamiliar territory. I think I like Haymitch better when he's drunk and seems to actually care about me, even if it's only in his dysfunctional and usually obnoxious way.

The temperature inside the building doesn't seem to be any different inside than out; the only relief is that there isn't any wind blowing the icy air around. I push my hood back anyway, since no one in here seems to be bundled quite as warmly as I am, and move away from the door to a somewhat inconspicuous spot in a corner behind some waste bins, where I can get a better look. The place is crowded with bodies, probably all trying to escape the cold.

Right away, I pick out Gale over by one of the stalls near the center of the building. Katniss is there too, sitting on the counter of the stall, where an old woman is laughing and serving them steaming bowls of what I can only assume is soup. Gale and Katniss appear to be in good spirits as well. I can't help but feel a stab of jealousy twisting around in my stomach at how easily they converse, even sharing smiles with one another. Watching them together is a glaring reminder of just how alone and out of place I am here.

I close my eyes to gather myself for a moment, and when I open them again, Gale hasn't moved an inch, but his eyes are now locked onto me. Mortified that I've been spotted so quickly, I freeze like a frightened animal, feeling myself shrink down just a bit. He moves his eyes back to Katniss, whose back is toward me, and he leans in to tell her something. She nods and turns her attention to the woman with the soup and a young redheaded Peacekeeper who seems to have joined in on the conversation. I find the sight a bit odd- a Peacekeeper coming here to do business when surely he can afford to shop in town, and also the casual manner in which he appears to be socializing. I purse my lips, noticing that his standard issue uniform jacket isn't even buttoned, when suddenly Gale appears directly in front of me. He moved so quickly during the moment I was distracted, I hadn't even seen him leave the group.

"You lost?" he asks in that gruff tone he always used to use on me when he would deliver strawberries at my back door, back when we were strangers.

I take a deep breath, and exhale slowly. "Of course not. I came-"

"Anything to trade?" he interrupts.

"Huh?" I blurt.

"Trade," he says slowly, as if speaking to a child, and gestures to the bag slung over his shoulder. "Like game, or produce. You know, things of value. How much coin ya got on you?" It sounds like an accusation.

I shake my head. "I don't have any," I say meekly. I want to speak more, but he's quicker.

"Shame. Best get on home then, Undersee," he says tersely. "You've got no business here."

My mouth opens slightly, and my chest tightens as I stand glued to the spot, blinking and dazed, trying to figure out how this hostile and malicious man has replaced the boy I found so charming only a week ago. His eyes move down over me once, then back up to my face before turning around and starting back toward the center of the Hob.

"Gale," I say, snapping myself back into the present.

He turns back to me.

The whole confrontation, the charges of wrongdoing, all the words I had planned to say to him disappear with the little puff of warm breath that escapes my lips and floats up when it hits the freezing air, and the only thing I can get out is, "I thought we were friends."

He smirks, and takes two steps closer to me, which are all his long legs need to close the distance between us. "Well, we aren't," he says quietly, looking straight into my eyes. "No need to pretend to be upset about it. We both know how things work around here." He backs up again and motions me away with a patronizing little wave. "Now run back to town where you belong. I'm sure you'll find someone there who's better suited for a girl like you."

Clenching my jaw, I will my eyes not to fill with tears until he turns his smirking face away from me and rejoins Katniss. Once he's gone, I flee the warehouse and the tears spill over, burning-hot on my frosty cheeks.

I'm not quite sure how I make it home, feeling cripplingly heartbroken and yet so furious I could knock the teeth out of the first person who gives me a second look. Luckily, the streets are empty.

I shake the snow off before I get inside, and leave my jacket, gloves, and boots in the corner of the kitchen on the floor. Storming through the main room, I stop short when I spot the misshapen vase I made that Gale had joked about at the party, filled with flowers and sitting on the end table near the piano. Someone must have found it hidden under the sink and brought it back out to display.

I can't say why the sight of it angers me as much as it does. Perhaps it simply reminds me of the Gale I met that night, and I don't want to remember that side of him right now, after his complete and unquestionable rejection of me. Or maybe it serves as a symbol of how all my attempts to branch out and try new things end in failure. Either way, before I can think better of it, I sweep it from the table and it shatters on the floor. I watch the puddle of water spread across the floor around the flowers and the broken pieces of clay, and I exhale. Surprised at how good it feels to destroy something I put so much effort into, I laugh quietly to myself.

Before anyone discovers me acting so insane, I grab a towel from the kitchen and clean up the mess, switching back from laughing to crying about halfway through.

When I'm done, I retreat to my room, and the first thing I see is the pale blue against the white of my bedding. My dress, the one Haymitch bought for me, has been cleaned and returned. I wipe off my tears with my shirt sleeve and take the dress from the bed, holding it up with both hands to examine it. Not a trace of coal dust can be detected. Hazelle really does work wonders. She erased the only piece of evidence proving that I had ever been to that cursed slag heap. It's what I asked her to do, so why does the sight of it, perfectly clean, looking like new to anyone who doesn't know better, make me so incredibly sad?

Tossing the dress back to the bed, I sit down, close my eyes, and let out a long sigh. It's good the stains are gone. No proof left. If the dress can be salvaged without any damage, maybe I can too. Just forget the whole thing ever happened.

When I open my eyes again, they're drawn toward the shoes next to my door. _Throw them away, _a little voice in my head urges me._ Erase it from your memory._

I get back up and grab the shoes, then look to the window. How far could I throw them? Would someone pick them up and take them away before the snow buries them?

"Ugh," I groan out loud, and open my closet, bury the shoes in the box filled with tissue paper and my too-small, never-worn pink rain boots, and replace the lid. Items I can't bring myself to get rid of.

There, good enough. I close the door and fling myself face-up onto my bed next to the dress. The dress, the vase, the shoes, all taken care of. No more reminders, and no more tears, I promise myself. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll never have to speak to Gale Hawthorne ever again.


End file.
